The Enemy of my Enemy
by AugustinianFrog
Summary: Deimos III is under siege and its invaders have taken interest in a particular facility owned by the Imperium. Neither the guardsmen nor their enemies know its purpose although the xenos are intent on finding it out. The horrors that await them inside are nothing compared to the battlefield outside.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note: I don't own the Warhammer40k universe. Games Workshop owns that. Please don't sue me. They already take enough of my money. _

* * *

**The Enemy of My Enemy**

Guardsman Miguel Olart looked up into the rainy night sky where not a single star could be seen. The storm clouds were too thick, smothering whatever comforting light that might have come from the heavens. Perhaps it was for the best. It would be one less reminder of just how badly they had fallen. It was so different from the way things were that morning. The sun had been bright. He heard the tech priests chanting in binary from the manufactorums, awakening the machine spirits for the start of another day. Workers left to go to the production lines while he and the other guardsmen marched in rank and file, made sure their kits were in order and prepared for what should have been just another ordinary day on Deimos III.

So much changed before the sun set, the skies turned gray and the dark clouds started to pour with rain. And with the rain came the Tau showering pulse fire and missiles, rail shot and the worst of damnable tech-sorcerery.

Deimos III had the misfortune of being in the vicinity of the Perdus Rift and right in the path of the Tau's so called "Third Sphere Expansion." The morning began with the praises to the Emperor but before noon came they were already crying the hymns of deliverance. The noise of workers milling about on their assigned duties became the cacophony that was war. Their enemies came in overwhelming force. None of the Imperium's auspexs had been able to give them advance warning and while countless astropaths had relayed their cries for help and warning into the warp, it was unlikely any nearby Imperial forces would be able to respond in time.

The alien tech was more than they could stand in such a surprise assault. Miguel and his squad were given the orders to move to the perimeter of the base and hold their positions no matter the costs. Tau warriors, clothed in unholy magics that made them invisible, stalked around them and cut them down with automatic pulse weapons, raining orbs of incinerating blue faster than guardsmen's lasguns could shoot. Their sturdy Chimeras, their intrepid Sentinel walkers and their beloved Lehman Russ tanks stopped dead in their tracks when holes instantly materialized in their hulls followed by a conical shower of a bloody mist; the remains of the crew exiting with the decompressing force of the rail shot on its exit puncture. They couldn't know if that was the more merciful way to go or if it was when the hypersonic round found the engine or ammo reserves and set the whole machine into a fireball. No matter what happened, they lost the battle faster than they could register that they were being attacked.

And so Guardsman Miguel stood outside in the rain with what remained of his squad. Their faces were drawn and confused as they tried to avoid the close presence and scrutiny of the firewarriors and the hovering war vehicles that flanked them on both sides, keeping them under escort. That morning he was just another guardsman raised from the Planetary Defense Force waiting to be drawn into the tithes of the Imperial Guard. And now his soul was on the verge of damnation for they had seen no choice but to surrender. At least, that was what the planetary governor was calling for. If they laid down their arms the Tau promised they would keep their lives. When Miguel had heard that being transmitted over the vox caster, he was certain Commissar Dalhiem would have had none of it and would have pressed them to continue fighting to the bitter last. Better to die in service of the Emperor than to forfeit their souls in surrender.

But Commissar Dalhiem's torso had vaporized in a flash of blue fire five minutes prior to the announcement. A century and half of the Commissar's faithful and unflinching service to the god-emperor ended in an instant by a xeno's heretical tech magic. It was clear his death had kicked the fight out of the squad. They stopped firing, they listened to the vox caster calling for them to lay down their arms and their guns numbly began to fall from their hands as they hugged the earth and prayed for salvation. They somehow found themselves surrendering after that. The squad in front of them had more faith and refused, continuing the fight. A salvo of missiles wiped them out of existence.

In retrospect they should not have been surprised. Days earlier they had heard the Tau were making expansions in the region. Agrellan had fallen to a decisive hammerblow. The news was disheartening. Agrellan had been massively fortified and entrenched, stocked with the best that the Departmento Munitorum had been able to give. Despite being an agrarian world it was the main gateway from the Imperium and to the Perdus rift, leading to the Tau beyond. And yet it had fallen and now the xenos were here.

Gunther let out a grumbling moan right beside him. Miguel tried to keep from wincing despite knowing Gunther would never notice his discomfort, much less the unbelievable halitosis that was currently making Miguel grimace. Large, bulky and having substandard hygiene, Gunther had arms the size of ancient trees and his monstrous body mass was equal parts fat and muscle. Standing a little over two meters he had been the shortest ogryn assigned to Miguel's squad of what had originally been five. They were a surprise gift from the Munitorum. Deimos III had no indigenous population of ogryn but with the fall of Agrellan the commanders had to find places to off load the countless material and personnel that were originally earmarked to defend the strategic planet and try to plan for the advancing Tau. Miguel and the rest of the men were initially repelled by their abhuman comrades. They were dumb, simple minded and sometimes seemed more of a hassle than an asset. That all changed when they took up their defensive positions. Gunther and his fellows held the line and absorbed more punishment than any other human ever could. Their simple minded faith and bravery had been an inspiration on the battlefield.

And now only Gunther was left and that was because a concussive blast had knocked him unconscious just before the decision to surrender. That prevented him from ignoring the orders and charging blindly into the Tau ranks repeating the Commissar's oft quoted "Never surrender!"

"Uh...did we win?" Gunther asked in his usual simple, nearly child-like tone, coming out of the dazing effects of the blast despite being led on blindly by the instinct to march in formation.

"We didn't, Gunther. We surrendered." Miguel replied quietly, casting a nervous eye at the Tau soldiers who were practically swarming all around them, escorting them up the hill as the rain continued to pour rivulets of water off their armor and bodies.

"But...but I thought the Com'sar told us to, uh...never surrender." Gunther blurted and then looked around in darting movements as if fearing the wrath of the commissar.

"The commissar is dead."

"...But now won't the Emperor be mad with us?"

"I don't know, Gunther."

"Sh...shouldn't we be fightin um?" the abhuman grumbled, a hint of fury in his voice.

"No Gunther! Orders are orders." Miguel parroted, remembering that key phrase often placated the abhumans. The giant man looked confused for a moment but nodded with quiet acceptance, a well practiced routine that he and his fellow ogryn so often did. Taking orders they did not understand was just part of life.

They continued to walk through the darkness with only the scant lamp post to light the way. Miguel could also see the large, alien shapes of the Tau vehicles hovering and floating all around them while squads of their Firewarriors maintained their flanking escort positions on either side of them, their weapons drawn and never more than a millimeter away from use. Their machines spelled mysterious runes on their layouts, their visors glowed an eerie red in the night. He wondered where the xenos were leading them.

"Uh...why are they leading us to the ferbidden build'n?" Gunther slurred curiously.

Of course! That was why that shadowy shape on top of the hill seemed so familiar.

"I don't know." Miguel said quickly, trying to decipher the meaning of it.

Building 83 was on a lonely hill that overlooked the rest of the base they had been stationed at. A perimeter was always set around it and all of them had been warned not to venture too near lest they face suspicion if not being shot outright. No one knew who was running that building, much less what they were doing inside but it didn't matter if it was the Adeptus Mechanicus, the higher ranking Imperial Commanders or even the Inquistion. Whoever was up here were several levels of security higher than all of them and had authorization to lethally defend their project.

Apparently, the Tau hadn't been let in on that.

Originally, the only entrance through the ferrocrete perimeter guarding Building 83 was a heavily built gate. Their alien enemies had already blasted that away and the squad simply walked over its dented, smoking ruins. All around them their enemies were milling about in the courtyard, strange devices being held out and consulted while vehicles idly hovered, maintaining sentry positions. Agile and disc like drones of every variety floated and zipped about on personal errands. Other squads that had surrendered were also being led here as the Firewarriors with their long pulse rifles herded them into a different section away from the rest of their forces.

Gunther, Miguel and the 14 remaining men stood silently as the rain continued to pour down on them. Miguel couldn't help but shiver a bit as they waited. Lightning began to crack overhead providing eerie if brief glimpses at their surroundings. He was half tempted to clean and maintain his lasgun so the water wouldn't offend its machine spirit. The guardsman stopped with a pang of guilt when he remembered the Tau had forced them to leave their weapons back on the field.

"..It's dark and wet out here...I don't like it." Gunther complained quietly.

"Just wait, Gunther." Miguel hushed. He may not have cared for the Ogryn's personal hygiene, or lack thereof, but he couldn't help but feel a little solidarity with the giant. Both of them were simply serving the Imperium and neither knew what was going on anymore.

In the shadows cast by the lights of the surrounding Tau craft, Miguel spotted a small, lithe figure approaching them. Peering through the veil of night, he saw that it was a Tau. Recalling back to what he learned on his primer, Tau were usually shorter and weaker than the average human. This one's spindly frame, swathed in an expensive green robe, gave the impression of being more of a bundle of sticks than anything else.

"I'm looking for a commanding officer or anyone else in position of authority? Please? A sergeant perhaps? I promise this will be only for your benefit." the Tau asked softly but loudly enough for all to hear.

"Anyone? A person in authority?"

There was a long silence punctuated only by the symphony of the rain that never ceased to fall. The Tau, whose feminine voice never once rose to a note of harshness, continued to wait and look for a single hint of acknowledgement from among the group of men. Miguel would not have been surprised if not a single sergeant had made it. So far all he had seen in the near pitch black were just fellow guardsmen like himself, their squads and detachments reduced to mere handfuls of survivors.

"Please, if you do not help me, I cannot help you and I will not be able to guarantee your safety." the Tau pleaded, water rolling off the wide shade she wore.

Miguel looked over and noticed even more Tau soldiers arriving and these newcomers appeared to be a separate group than the ones they had just been fighting. Whereas their first opponents wore a solid, soft, brownish yellow for their armor, the new arrivals had deep blue flecked with black and dark gray. Camouflage. And they were arriving in larger numbers.

"Yes! Me! I'm a sergeant!" a gruff voice finally admitted loudly from Miguel's left. He recognized Sergeant Pierson's voice. Pierson was a bastard, a hard man and one Miguel never enjoyed a second with. Ogryn were at least sociable once you got past their foul odor and dim witted ways. Sergeant Pierson probably irritated his own mother.

"Thank you, Sergeant. Please step forward, but do so slowly and with your hands where my escorts can see them." the Tau gently admonished, suddenly flanked by two Tau soldiers who promptly shouldered their carbines and kept their eyes on the approaching sergeant, breaking ranks and stumbling up towards them.

"Sergeant, you may call me Por'la Sha'ra. I am here to make sure you and your men are kept safe and cared for. However, in order to guarantee that, we need some information regarding this building. What is it for?" the diplomat asked directly but gently. Miguel was surprised with how fluent she spoke vernacular Gothic, the language he and all the others spoke. There was a heavy accent but he had no difficulty understanding her.

"Warp take me if I knew." Sergeant Pierson snapped. Sha'ra blinked a few times, as if trying to discern exactly what that statement meant.

"So you don't know the purpose of this facility?" the alien pressed.

"No, I don't. It wasn't my responsibility. We weren't allowed near it and my quartermaster, Miguel Olart was the only one who set foot in it, and even then not long." Sergeant Pierson answered roughly, pushing rain out of his eyes.

"Is your Miguel Olart here?"

"Haven't seen him here in the dark, xeno."

"Please see if you can find him. My escorts will be keeping an eye on you for your safety." Sha'ra spoke, Miguel dared say it almost sound as if she was trying to be sweet. Truly the deception of these xenos knew no bounds.

"That dun't sound like thunder." Gunther announced. Miguel looked up at him quizzically before realizing that he could heard a very steady, rhythmic series of thumps echoing through the darkness. The increasing volume of those falls told him that whatever it was, it was getting closer.

Three glowing lights, analogous to eyes, suddenly appeared in the darkness while flashes of lightning and light ambivalence painted in shadows a very large and humanoid object, nearly as bulky as Gunther and only slightly taller. Miguel believed this was probably his first sighting of one of those Tau walkers he had heard so much about. A battlesuit.

Sha'ra turned around in surprise and gazed up at the massive war machine. The combat walker glared down and Miguel caught a glimpse of the unmistakable profile of two different guns attached to the machine, one on the left arm and the other mounted on its right shoulder. Addressing the Tau diplomat, the war machine spoke through its audio speakers, projecting a stern voice that growled through the xenos' native language. Sha'ra listened with a small smile despite the rain and darkness and nodded when the walker stopped talking. Miguel was not sure whether the thing was some unholy AI born of techno-sorcerery or if there was another Tau piloting the contraption within.

"My apologies, commander; but for the benefit of those in our custody, we must, if possible, speak in their language around them." Sha'ra insisted. Miguel was certain that if a machine could glare, that was what he was seeing. More stern words came from the machine.

"It should be no problem, commander. The proper translation programs should be installed onto your battlesuit."

The head of the battlesuit nodded in acknowledgement and then stomped off at the front of all the gathered captives. Caught in the glow of countless vehicle lights and roaming, scanning drones, the war machine radiated the title given to the one who piloted it. Every movement was sleek and with purpose, not like the clumsy, pondering movements of the Imperial Guard's sentinels that Miguel had spent so much time drilling alongside. The whole battlesuit was colored in a jet black and steel night camouflage save for the blue decor that highlighted the symbol of the Tau empire on the machine's shoulder as well as the blue visor on the machine's head from which strange orange runes were inscribed on.

"Who among you still detest us? Who among you wish to escape? Step forward!" the pilot boomed through the suit.

"Uh...why is he asking that?" Gunther mumbled softly while Miguel tried to hide his face. He could feel Sergeant Pierson approaching and he wanted nothing to do with the man nor whatever machinations the Tau were probably cooking up. It was treason to even collude with the xenos.

Several of the guardsmen defiantly stepped forward, pride and indignation steeling their spines as they gazed up at the machine. Miguel spotted about five of them through the dark while the others hesitated, unsure of what kind of trick the Tau may be plotting, if it was a trick at all.

The gun on the battlesuit's arm began to hum with the sound of the multiple chambers situated just behind the end of gun's muzzle starting to rotate. Before anyone could blink or react, a stream of brilliant white energy fired from the weapon and vaporized the men who had dared to show their defiance. All that remained of them were pieces of charred flesh, blackened bone and frayed rags of what had been their uniforms.

"Emperor watch over their souls." Miguel hissed, quickly but subtly making a sign of the Aquila in the air.

"I know how you humans work. I have fought against you and in dire times, I have fought alongside you. You may bow before the Greater Good of the Tau'va or you may die. Those are your options. We will not tolerate any disobedience or insubordination." the commander warned, letting those words sink in among them.

Here it was, they had not moved forward to find absolution in death. They had surrendered. They were all damned.

"I found him!" Sergeant Pierson hollered through the night. Miguel felt himself being shook from the shoulder and groaned silently to himself as the commanding officer continued to grapple him.

"Why are you doing this, Sergeant?" Miguel whispered harshly.

"You heard the xenos. They told me to look for you and so I did. If it gets them off my back then so be it." Pierson snarled through clenched teeth.

"You would make me a traitor?" Miguel murmured softly, a ball of icy lead in his stomach.

"Better you than me." the spiteful sergeant snapped as rivulets of water continued to fall off of them.

Two Firewarriors, still clutching their carbines, gently parted the few men that were in front of them. One took a moment to glance up at Gunther who stood patiently next to Miguel but then focused back on the task at hand. Both aliens motioned with their firearms for Miguel to step forward and to follow them.

Those few steps were some of the hardest in Miguel's life.

The Firewarriors led the hapless guardsman to the serene ambassador who insisted on standing in the rain with the slight smile still plastered on her surprisingly feminine face. Save for the blue pigmentation of her skin and the fact that instead of a nose there was a single crease running down between her eyes, it could have been the countenance of a human staring back at Miguel.

"Is it true? Have you had access to this building before? Tell me truthfully, guardsman." the Tau said in fluent gothic. Miguel sulked before her. One of the Firewarriors prodded him hard with the muzzle of his gun.

"Yes." Miguel blurted. Apparently, betraying the Emperor was surprisingly easy when it came down to it.

"Do you have access to open it now?" Sha'ra continued to ask as if it were a pleasant conversation between friends.

"No." Miguel replied with as much defiance as he could muster. It sounded pitiful in his own ears.

"Why not?"

Miguel realized he had said enough. It probably wasn't betrayal if you didn't completely aide and abet the xeno. Steeling himself again and gathering whatever courage he could find within his chest, the guardsman took a deep breath and prepared for whatever should come. He nearly jumped when he felt the earth shake and watched the massive juggernaut that was the commander's crisis suit storming up to them.

"Are you the only human who has had access here?" the machine boomed through the speakers, the angry red lens on its "head" glaring down at him.

"Only the first floor." Miguel blurted out in fear. He inwardly kicked himself. He was glad the rained had thoroughly soaked him and his clothes. He wasn't sure if he had wet himself.

"Access enough. Come with me." the commander ordered.

From the back, Pierson had been watching with hateful glee. He had never liked Miguel. That man was too soft, too much of an Ecclesiarch's boy. It wouldn't have surprised him if the late commissar, Emperor spit upon him, would have easily executed him and put Miguel up as a replacement if it came down to it. Pierson had always resented that and even though the commissar was nothing more than a carcass, he wasn't about to let go of all that venom. There was another person in his squad that he also hated.

"Hey! Hey, Xenos!" the sergeant shouted. Without missing a beat, every Firewarrior in ear shot shouldered and aimed at the cause of the commotion. The other guardsmen in the squad flinched and did their best not to drop to the ground lest they risk further upsetting their captors.

"That man is an important part of my squad! I want my bodyguard to go with him!" Pierson lied on the spot and roughly prodded Gunther next to him. "After all, he deserves it!"

Miguel stared in disbelief. His sergeant's logic was flimsy at best. All the administrative duties and privileges Miguel had before were only temporary, granted only because he was deemed the most competent at the time and were forgotten and rescinded as soon as the job was complete.

"But...But sergeant...we musn't help the xenos." Gunther protested meekly.

"I'm not telling you to help the xenos. I'm telling you to help Miguel and he still helps the emperor. Don't question me, idiot!" Sergeant Pierson snapped venomously. Gunther apologized quickly and began to lumber forward towards Miguel.

Unknown to the ogryn, the Firewarriors began to draw their weapons but looked questioningly at their commander. For a moment Miguel was certain the ogryn was going to be shot to pieces until the head of the battlesuit made a single, curt nod and the Firewarriors lowered their weapons.

"...I don't think I can let you in anymore. I don't have access." Miguel muttered to the machine, doubting it would even hear him.

"Nonetheless, you are coming." the Tau stated from within his suit. Miguel watched arcs of electricity crackle around the blade mounted on the suit's wrist and in one movement, the battlesuit stepped forward and slammed its fist into the icon of the skull keeping its vigil on the giant door.


	2. Chapter 2

Shas'O Diamoto ran the disintergrating field of his onager gauntlet's blade along the crease of the heavy doors, blasting the locks that held it in place. Most commanders shunned the idea of melee combat. Their enemies, the Orks revelled in hand to hand fighting. These Gue'la and their space marines weren't better. But Shas'O Kais had showed them the way of the lone warrior who was in essence a whole army though he was an individual. Therefore, there had to be a tool for every situation so that a soldier could respond with a force greater than himself. Even the ethereal Aun'Shi, the most popular Aun by the fire caste, was known to be unmatched in the use of the honorblade. But for every Tau that considered the ideal of rivaling their opponents in melee, far more preferred the more civilized method of firing from range and those that considered melee combat walked an unorthodox path bordering on open mockery. Diamoto even heard that there was an old commander who went rogue from the greater good and his records had to be sealed but many said that this renegade had advocated close combat.

Diamoto knew nothing of this rebel. He just knew he felt better with this modified gauntlet at his wrist, its internal power source doubling as a shield generator when not relaying power to the blade and fist. There had to be a tool for every situation and he made sure to equip himself accordingly.

Truth be told, he was irate. He was called the Shadow Lance for a reason. Diamoto's strategy was to fight on the dark side of the planet, his small but mobile cadre camouflaged for night and urban fighting. Blacksun filters turned the darkness into broad daylight, his force never staying around for the coming of dawn unless ordered to take a point by any means. He should have been out there following the shadow of night, sowing discord in the enemy and hitting key points so that the advancing Tau could take advantage of the chaos. While the main invasion force struck on key installations on the bright side of the planet, he and his cadre would cut a swathe of destruction on the dark side, paving the way for a complete take over. Power plants were highlighted and destroyed, bunkers levelled in the wake of his roving gunships and when the enemy tried to respond, his battlesuits and broadsides were already waiting to intervene. He was expecting to mop up whatever remained in this city when night fell and when he was told to link up at this location, he was prepared to be debriefed and reassigned for whatever command may have been considering.

Instead, he was being told to investigate this "curiosity."

He was no fool. The Ethereals had commanded that this site remain intact. They couldn't simply destroy it. The readings on the sensors had all been...interesting. Knowing the Gue'la, putting the muzzle of a gun to it and firing would cause the whole thing to backfire catastrophically. Whatever was down here had to be thoroughly investigated before a more decisive action would be taken.

Ever since he first set eyes on this complex he knew he he couldn't do it on his own. The usual answer of sending in pathfinder scouts and kroot infiltrators would not do for this building. It was too secure and sending men to blast their way through would just invite countless needless deaths. If he wanted to minimize casualties, he'd have to go forward himself, trust that the iridium plating of his enforcer suit would protect him and that his numerous support and offensive systems would be enough to get the job done. He could call for backup where necessary.

Now it was all just a matter of the necessity of these two...unpleasant Gue'la that needed to accompany him. It was sad but true. In order to more easily get through whatever barriers and snares that were ahead, a Gue'la's mind would be needed, regardless of whether he was being deceptive or truthful. A man who lies is just showing that he has something to hide and that was important to take into consideration for a discerning commander. Fate was a fickle and cruel mistress with a sadistic sense of humor sometimes.

The last bolt in the heavy door was sundered but the heavy barrier refused to budge. Diamoto was tempted to become infuriated with the doors but the wise proverbs of many ethereal teachers told him to be calm as water. Rage could be an effective tool when used correctly but it also brought the bearer into danger. He had to remain thinking and rational.

Two blows with the gauntlet blew a bigger dent into the door, enough for the Tau to maneuver the hands of his machine into the partition. Flexing the engines and servos of his battlesuit, there was a brief pause as the onlookers wondered which would be overcome first.

The doors slammed aside with a heavy, mechanical crash that tore at the ears of all who heard it. Diamoto even heard a gasp from those behind him. It was only when he properly surveyed what was before him that he realized it wasn't the noise of the door that startled the onlookers. It was a matter of what the doors were hiding.

* * *

"...Bad things happened here. Very bad things." Gunther said with a frown.

Miguel could scarce take in everything he was seeing. He had served with the Planetary Defense Force for years and his dedication to his duties was the only thing that got him drafted into the tithe for the most prestigious Imperial Guard. In his time with the PDF, he had only been in one conflict and that had been a minor rebellion. At least, they called it a rebellion. In truth one of the provinces was a little slow in turning over their taxes. But between the bloodshed he saw there, and the abattoir that was the battlefield earlier today, none of it prepared him for this.

The room resembled any other building in the Imperium though it was a little more spartan, even by their standards. There was a lot less icongraphy along the walls, save for the skull reliefs that decorated each corner. There was not a single stitch of furniture, not even a chair or a terminal that could be found otherwise. This emptiness only served to highlight what was truly capturing their attention. Bodies were strewn all along the floor, crumpled where they fell. It was as if the ruinous powers had opened up in this very room in an instant, flash shredding all the occupants and spilling every drop of blood on the floor and walls. There a storm trooper lay, stabbed so many times he was more a slab of meat than body. Here a Munitorium servant was resting with his insides so thoroughly exposed he must have been pulled apart limb from limb until he was grotesquely quartered. A techpriest was torn of his flesh so that only the machinery that was grafted into him remained as a testament that there once was a human in his place.

"Emperor protect us." Miguel hissed as the Tau commander piloted his suit slowly but deliberately into the room. It did not matter to the guard who felt as if his own blood had drained from him to pool with the rest that was splattered all around the room. He had never felt this numb before.

* * *

Diamoto the Shadow Lance stopped. The times were becoming fewer and far between that the horrors of butchery forced him to pause. When Eldar pirates stuck in his sector, he gave chase and destroyed their parties to a man. A lot of bodies, Tau and Eldar, fell that day. When the incursion of chaos were unleashed on a planet and the Ethereals decreed that their presence could not be tolerated, Diamoto struck hard and true. He lost more firewarriors than he ever wanted to that day but it was either that or total annihilation. Even the veteran commanders agreed that it was a miracle that anything escaped those blood soaked plains, let alone spin a victory out of what would have surely been defeat.

But this was altogether different. There was bloodshed and war but that was subtly different from a massacre. This? This was just wanton murder. And it didn't make sense. The building was deliberately avoided by the Tau invasion force. How did these poor souls die? What he saw here was not the aftermath of a pitched battle but the product of a slaughterhouse gone mad.

"Firewarriors, kroot, secure a perimeter around this room. Pathfinders, give me whatever data you can. I need to know what is going on here." Diamoto barked in their own tongue, purposefully shutting off the translation software so that his Gue'la hostages wouldn't be able to understand him.

Without a word the firewarriors of his cadre hurried forward, their hooves leaving macabre marks in the bloodied floor while the avian like kroot mercenaries lined up behind their gunlines, bayonets and blades ready to intervene should anything get too close to the ranks of the Tau's pulse rifles. Every door and hall was jealously guarded and watched as the pathfinders moved about the room, instruments with glowing data panels delivering whatever information they could glean. Diamoto waited patiently, fixated on the three doors that branched off from each side of the room. What were these Gue'la doing in here and how did they all die?

Diamoto looked over when he heard a small scuffle and watched as one of the dark clothed pathfinders slipped in the slick carpet of red, landing face first in the soupy, sticky mire. Startled and momentarily blind, the hapless trooper frantically pushed himself off the gore and hastily wiped the filth from his visor sensors allowing him to see again. The commander shook his head and turned to one of the pathfinder Shas'uis, the squad leaders placed in authority of their respective teams.

"Report; what are your readings?" Diamoto demanded.

"Nothing we do not already know, Shas'O." the soldier replied, continuing to contemplate the readouts on his analyzer.

"There has got to be weapons residue. Warp leavings from daemons or high energy discharges from Necron gauss weapons. Give me something, Shas'ui."

"Shas'O...I'm just reading ionization and trace amounts of ballistic powder. All of it consistent with the Gue'la laser and bolter weapons."

"They did this to themselves." Diamoto murmured grimly.

"That would be a plausible explanation."

* * *

Miguel was uneasy with so many of the xeno troopers milling about with their alien machines displaying their indecipherable runes and glowing with some unholy light. At least the sanctioned machines of the Omnissiah made more sense and were most responsive to the ministrations of the engiseers. The guardsman was quite certain that if he were to get close to one of those things the unholy techno-sorcerery would try to steal his soul. The techpriests always had warned them about that. And it didn't help that from where he was standing, it looked like the Tau were gearing up with another offensive deep within a building that only 24 hours ago was off limits to him on the pain of death. Gunther could only stare and frown at the broken bodies of the Munitorium servants and Mechanicus clergy. To the ogryn, for anyone to commit such atrocities was to strike at the holy God-Emperor himself and since they had died, it was just another failure to add to the list of others to Gunther's name. He wasn't smart like the rest and he knew that sometimes no matter how hard he tried to follow orders, he sometimes just wasn't good enough. He was suppose to protect these people because he was a guardsman and now they were dead and so he had failed. Would the Emperor still accept him?

The pilot in the commander suit turned from the soldier he was talking to and barked out a harsh order. The Firewarriors and fierce looking kroot immediately began to fan out, storming through the doors and hallways. Miguel wasn't sure if there was something he should be doing and tried not to fidget with his hands. Gunther was still standing there sulking.

"Wait here, humans." the alien commander rumbled as the titan clambered up behind them.

Miguel waited but couldn't help but stare as the humming of machinery grew stronger from the battlesuit that loomed far over him and just a head taller than Gunther. Here in the light he couldn't help but notice that despite the well done black and gray camouflage, there were a dozen scrapes and scratches on the paint, sometime exposing the silver of the metal below the coat. The guardsman became even more uneasy when the guns mounted on the crisis suit came to life. The shoulder mounted plasma rifle twitched and swayed side to side as if looking for a target. On his arm the rapid fire blaster he saw making bloody work a few minutes ago spun its chambers again. Miguel flinched, wondering if this was the end and they had outlived their usefulness. Gunther, whether out of coincidence or in a rare moment of empathy, spoke to his comrade.

"The Emperor protects." Gunther repeated quietly but confidently.

And suddenly, the Firewarriors returned, their guns still leveled, their hooves bloody and slick from whatever unseen gore was in the rooms beyond. Miguel's stomach lurched within him. Their feet were red up to their ankles and if those rooms were no different than what was out here...by the Throne, what had happened in here?

The xenos once again conversed in their own language, the smaller troopers paying diligent attention as one of their squad leaders gave a report to the taller commander. For once, Miguel was relieved to be left out of the conversation. If the xeno squad leader was giving the details of what he saw in the other rooms, the less the guardsman knew, the better. Without a word, the crisis suit made a single nod and then turned to look at the guardsman and ogryn, weapons still power up.

"This is it, we'll be at the Emperor's side or in the throes of the Warp very soon"

"There are no further entrances, human." the commander announced. Miguel stared at him blankly.

"There is nothing of note in these rooms. Just machinery, equipment and more of your dead. There has to be another entrance. Where is it, human?" the xeno demanded in a stern tone that vaguely reminded Miguel of his late commissar.

"...I don't know." he blurted.

"I have no time for deception."

"I don't know! I only came close enough to see the interior when I helped drop off supplies. It looked just like this!" the guardsman protested.

"...There were bodies left like this for how long?" a condescending and mildly shocked tone present under the artificial speakers.

"What? No! It was like this but without the bodies!"

The crisis suit glared with its angry red lens deep into him. Miguel had decided to adopt a passive aggressive stance with his Tau captors. They were his enemies and filth in the eyes of the God-Emperor but he had heard stories of some chapters of the Adeptus Astartes gaining a semblance of respect for them and Miguel knew that had any other race had captured him, he would be in a far more painful position. He wasn't going to just outright offer all the information he knew to the Tau but in this case, he honestly was not privy to whatever else this building held.

Without a word, the warmachine slowly walked towards the center of the room, avoiding the thickest of the corpse piles, blood splashing with every step it made. In an odd gesture for a machine, the head gazed down at the gory mess and for a long while, nothing was said. Even the Tau troopers and kroot warriors grew uncomfortable with the silence.

"Our readings tell us there is a strong power source at this location and yet we cannot see it." the commander announced. Without warning, the battle suit leaned down and reached out, ingloriously grasping the eviscerated corpse of an Ecclesiarch priest, his body somehow cut in half and drooping upright from the ground. Miguel once again had to stop himself from retching.

"He shouldn't be touching dat." Gunther grumbled irritably.

The battlesuit lifted the body off the ground before suddenly jerking where the robes the priest once wore refused to let it go any further. "We can then assume that the only place left to go is underground." the commander deducted.

Unseen by all the blood and corpses, a crease ran along the ground telling of a hidden path leading below. The priest had not been cut in half. He was simply crushed to death when the doors closed in on him and pulverized his lower body.

"Find me a way to get these doors opened."

* * *

A promising lever was found off in the other room, very close to the entrance so that the operators could see the adjacent room with ease. The Firewarriors, pathfinders and kroot assembled around the supposed underground door, their weapons shouldered and ready to fire while the commander stood between the formation and the guardsmen. Gunther was chosen to pull the lever while Miguel tried not to feel too useless with himself.

"Activate the mechanism." the commander ordered. Gunther stared at his enemy and frowned. He didn't move a muscle.

"Gunther, do it. Pull the lever." Miguel coaxed.

"We shouldn't be taking orders from xenos." Gunther retorted firmly.

"Gunther...you need to do this or…" Miguel fished for words and thoughts. "If you don't do this we can't find out what happened to our comrades and we need to know what happened."

"...But...why are the xenos helping?" the Ogryn mumbled, his eyes showing that his brain was certain there was a logical fallacy somewhere but it was too abstract for him to find.

"I don't know but what matters is that we find out what went wrong. Wouldn't the Emperor want us to put an end to this evil?" Miguel suggested gently. Underneath, he was desperate for it to work.

"...Maybe...Emperor dun like evil." Gunther bellowed and, after a moment's hesitation, reached out and pulled the lever. It looked like a small stick in his hands.

There was a loud rumbling and whining as the ancient machines creaked and groaned to life. If the xeno troopers had any misgivings from all the noise, they hid it well, at least in Miguel's eyes. If he had known better, the flared head feathers on the kroot would have told him that they were indeed alert and uncomfortable with the situation.

With a loud bang the crease along the floor began to widen until it was a crevice and then a chasm. Bodies and blood began to fall in and sink into the widening gap as if it were a giant disposal pit. However, instead of hiding away the unpleasant sight it only made it worse as more was revealed of the abuse and horrors that were visited on the victims before their husks were left inert and empty.

"That must be the elevator platform that leads lower inside." Miguel observed, noticing the lower landing that was hidden under the doorway. Poking through the bodies and covered in a thick sheen of blood was the command podium which controlled the motions of the elevator.

"There, you have your way down." Miguel sighed.

The xeno commander turned his battlesuit and once again glared down at him. Miguel was starting to wonder if this Tau had some fetish for doing that. The little blue filth could hardly do that to a human when they weren't doing their techno-sorcery within the machine.

"In your tongue I am known as 'Commander.' You will address me as such."

Miguel decided to return the glare but simply nodded an acknowledgement so not to overly alienate the Tau.

"What is your name, human?"

"My name is Miguel Olart. My ranks is-"

"Miguel-Olart, my given rank is Commander and my name is Diamoto. Address me as such and you will not feel completely spat upon. Your use is not over. Please remain here and keep your larger comrade complacent." the xeno ordered curtly before turning to his soldiers and handing out orders.

Miguel sat down and sighed. This was way over his head and even worse, he hadn't gone this long without having his lasrifle by his side since he started training. It was worse than having a limb missing. He felt naked and crippled without it. Gunther must have felt something similar because he had never seen the ogryn fidget and pace around in agitation so much before. Off to the side, this "Diamoto" was having an intense discussion with his underlings, perhaps regarding their next plan of attack.

"I dun like this." Gunther grumbled. "We shouldn't be here."

"We had no choice, Gunther."

"But...but...we coulda died for the Emperor. We coulda been brave." Gunther argued.

"I don't know, Gunther, it's more complicated than that."

"...People...people always tell me that."

"Humans!" Diamoto boomed. Both the guardsman and the ogryn looked up in response.

"Join my fire teams on the platform. You will be going down with them."

Before either could think of protesting the dark clothed pathfinders had already surrounded them and were prodding them towards the elevator where two squads of Firewarriors awaited with their long pulse rifles, the fierce looking kroot stepping behind them. Gunther and Miguel were shoved into the center of the formation.

"Bring us down, Gue'la!" a Firewarrior Shas'ui snapped at him. The xeno spoke with a thick and nearly impenetrable accent. Miguel gaped at him in bewilderment at first. Finally, the short xeno soldier grew impatient and grumpily pointed at the control podium.

It was all Miguel could do to keep from vomiting as he hands slide through the slick and disgusting sludge that coated the machine. He hastily wiped his hands off on his pant leg just to get the blood away. The floor under them buckled and moaned and the engines whined as they began to go lower and lower.

Miguel felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end when he realized that over the noise of the machine, he could hear people screaming further below.


	3. Chapter 3

The elevator groaned each and every milimeter it descended sounded for all the world like the distant wail of a banshee. Miguel was not sure if the shivers he felt running up and down his spine were reverbations of the metal clattering up through his feet or the involuntary fear he felt. For the past seven years he had always had his lasgun at his side and now he was as unarmed as the day he came into the world and he may as well have been just as naked. It didn't matter that he had Gunther on his side or two squads of Firewarriors in front and their accompanying kroot carnivore squads behind. The Tau troopers probably considered him to be little more than a nuisance, Gunther a larger sized one. Considering the looks he was getting from the kroot, he was quite certain they saw him as a walking snack. He really wanted his lasgun.

Simple, durable and so long as you were faithful to it, it would be faithful to you. That's what the drill sergeants instilled into them from day one of their training. Their dedication to their rifle was second only to their dedication to the Emperor. The laser energy it fired was deadly to any kind of flesh so long as it was within the weapon's effective range. Every guardsman was even shown how to recharge the batteries by leaving them in the sunlight or over a fire in the most dire of circumstances. That weapon had always been so close to him it had become an extension of him. And all the cries below him were making Miguel miss it even more severely.

All the anguished screaming below him spoke of some sort of horror further down, lurking there in the dark. To think he was completely dependent on his enemies for protection. The xeno is always one breath away from betrayal, or so the commissar taught them. Miguel wasn't sure if he was better off with them there in front and behind him or if he should have been by himself and just as unarmed.

He jumped when another particularly shrill scream rent the air. He wasn't sure if that one was particularly human either. He wished the commissar was here. At least that tough bastard would know what to say to bring some steel into his spine even if it meant threatening to execute them. It was amazing what unknown wells of courage a properly aimed bolt pistol could find.

Miguel noticed tiny, spindly strings of icy blue light fall from ceiling. Along the threshold of the door the pathfinders were going prone and activating the markerlights mounted on their carbines. They had a better view of what was down there at the bottom and apparently they considered it a threat. Miguel suddenly found himself letting out an involuntary groan of fear.

"It's dark in here." Gunther said in his dull whine when he was trying to be brave but found the circumstances unfavorable. Miguel could see that the ogryn had a point. He saw no light sources along the ceiling or walls. The pillars that supported the ground floor were simply shadows barely peeking out from the gloom and into the light cast from the upper floor where Diamoto and the other Tau waited.

"Why has the power gone out?" the guardsman murmured to himself. Perhaps only the engiseers knew the answer to that one but even he thought this was highly irregular.

Suddenly, with a jolt on the floor and a metallic groan the elevator came to a stop. Miguel wanted to panic. He couldn't see anything beyond the shaft of light that came down from the ceiling. The Firewarriors dropped to a crouching position, placing their shoulder body shields in front of them as they leveled their rifles. The markerlight beams swayed and then concentrated at certain locations in the dark. The fire teams in front of Miguel and Gunther immediately began to unload their rifles into some unseen danger in the dark, the roar of the guns drowning out the cries of fear that had been so dominant once before. Even the kroot started to take pot shots although they seemed to be firing blindly.

"I hope they're not shooting at our boys." Gunther grumbled with a frown.

Miguel wasn't sure what he wanted at this point. The last place he wanted to be in when found by a rescuing Imperial force was in the center of a Tau formation. If he was going to die, he figured the Emperor would be more inclined to smile on him if he took at least one Tau with him. Nonetheless, if there was a way he could get out of this predicament with his life, he dead set on finding.

"What's going on?" he asked the shorter Shas'Ui that barked at him earlier.

The squad leader shouted back something harsh and unintelligible and Miguel went back to crouching behind the the armored xenos in front of him.

Miguel still heard human screaming through the sound of the pulse rifles and he was willing to wager they had become more anguished in the wake of the ugly weapons discharging their fire. And yet the Tau never changed the direction they were firing from, seemingly fixated on two singular locations that the markerlights had highlighted.

Without warning, the gunfire promptly ceased only to be replaced by the former choir of screaming and anguished moans still lost in the dark of the room they were in.

And then the Tau waited there in the light scarcely enough to illuminate them, certainly not enough for Miguel to see beyond more than a meter around him. The Tau must have had low light vision built into their helmets since they seemed perfectly able to see what Miguel could not.

From overhead, Diamoto's voice thundered down the chasm.

"Step forward, human."

Miguel glanced up while Gunther either didn't register the command or ignored it altogether. The hesitant guardsman knew that this would fall to him as he was the one to react and he immediately regretted doing so.

"Step forward, human." Diamoto reiterated, this time more sternly.

"Why?" Miguel shakily asked.

"There is a lighting mechanism up forward. You need to hit the lever. At least, I believe it is the lighting mechanism."

The startled guardsman peered into the blackness from which he could still hear human screaming and moans. The firewarriors scanned and searched with their rifles, sweeping them slowly back and forth and yet did not fire. What were they waiting for? Why was there screaming? Each bone chilling shriek in the murky darkness sent shivers up and down Miguel's spine and yet here was some xeno commander telling him to step forward into the unknown and pull a switch that for all he knew, would cause the machine spirits to become angry and fry the life out of him. The xeno commander most certainly didn't know about that danger. Or maybe he did and he was just looking for a good way to kill him.

"Now!" Diamoto barked. Miguel inadvertently jumped forward, if at least a step. Now he was committed. With a sigh and a hasty sign of the Aquila, he forced himself to take another step, weaving through the Firewarrior line. At least the xeno troopers were polite enough to pretend to ignore him.

"At least if the machine spirits strike me down...better dying that way than a bunch of my comrades thinking I betrayed them." he sighed dejectedly. Of course, there was the matter that none of that would be relevant if whatever was causing the voices in the dark to scream in anguish got him first.

Each step was agony and he was practically blind. He wasn't even sure where the lever was and each noise, whether real or imagined, set a quake of fear in his body. He desperately regretted not having his lasgun.

"Just a little more, human." Diamoto stated. Miguel wondered if that was a hint of encouragement or mocking in the xeno's voice. It was hard to tell through the electronic filter.

Miguel's boot hit something hard and he immediately stumbled forward, groping blindly in the inky gloom. His knuckles banged against metal and he hissed in pain. However, overjoyed that perhaps his blindness would soon come to an end, he grasped the rod and pulled. His heart sank when it refused to budge and he was ashamed to hear himself whimper when he heard another disembodied shriek in the gloom.

"Push, human!"

The lever whined horribly loud, enough so that it echoed along the walls. With a whoosh and thrumming of power the lights began to come on all along the walls and ceiling, each orb stuck in the teeth of the skull iconography they were installed in.

Before, Miguel wanted to know what the firewarriors could see and why they didn't fire. Now that the darkness was parted and he could see himself, he immediately regretted his previous wish.

Wretched, broken facsimiles of humanity lined the walls. Maybe some time in the past they might have been proper men and women but now they were emaciated, their clothing rags, whatever armor they may have worn were incomplete and in disrepair. Many of them had sores on their filthy bodies. One woman's long hair was shorn in placed, ragged where it was long and muck crusted like the dirtiest mop in a cleaning servitor's closet. One man, the remnants of his armor suggesting he may have been a been a guardsman at some point, was crouched in the corner hugging himself while tremors wracked his body. Bloody smears lined the corner where he had rubbed his head repeatedly as if trying to burrow himself into the walls. It was quite possible that he had rubbed two patches along his forehead down to the white of his skull.

Many of the wretches were simply crying and moaning in anguish for no immediately apparent reason. The Tau, while maybe not completely comprehending what was going on, did not deem the afflicted as a threat. Gunther frowned at what he saw but realized that these poor sods were in a state worse off than him and would be of no use. It was especially clear from the one wretch off to the side who would vomit upon the floor, sit up to let out a single anguished wail before bowing over again to retch and eventually vomit some more.

Then, from behind the closed doors behind Miguel he heard the unmistakable roar of a chain weapon being revved. The guardsman's blood ran cold in his veins. What he had not noticed before was that there was a door with a view slot right behind him. And now that he spotted it, he saw the gleam of two eyes that had watched him. Any Imperium citizen worth their salt that had spotted a fellow man pull a switch while having his back painted by a dozen xeno warriors would rightfully assume said man was a traitor. His only options were to lose his life to whoever was carrying that chainsword or to take his chances at a later time and hope that the Tau still valued him.

Miguel voted in that moment that he preferred living as a reluctant prisoner than a dead fanatic.

Gasping frantically, he dashed back over to the Tau gunline and practically leaped over the warriors, Gunther watching in confusion.

"Wot's wrong? Mig'el?" the ogryn asked in bewilderment.

The large door behind the switch slowly raised open and out stepped a particularly demented looking Ecclesiarch priest. His robes were in tatters, his beard was gnarled and was in desperate need of a wash and his chainsword looked so neglected it would have made a techpriest choke.

"Traitors! Xenos! They defile this holy place! We must cleanse them!" the priest roared over the sound of his chainsword revving as he raised it high in the air.

Gunther let out a small groan. In his stout Ogryn heart, Gunther knew he should listen and obey the priests but often times they made him feel bad, told him that he was imperfect and that he would never be and Gunther knew it was true because he wasn't smart like they were. And as much as he knew he should be loyal, he just couldn't forget all the negative feeling he associated with the priests. And to hear one call him a traitor? That hurt like a knife in his gut. Remorseful, Gunther slumped to his knees and frowned.

"Faithful! Join me! Faith is our shield! We must cleanse them!"

From behind the priest more figures emerged. Miguel immediately recognized most of them as being the Sisters Repentia, Sisters of Battle who found some flaw in their service and so put themselves into the most severe of the orders. Seeking only absolution in death, they wore the lightest of leather armor, strapped their hands to eviscerator chainswords and cast themselves blindly into battle. And behind them were the shambling figures of arco-flagellants, penitent heretics or humbled criminals repurposed into shambling shock troops, their electro flails deadly the enemy though they occasionally harmed the wielder himself.

"For the Emperor!" the priest roared over his chainsword and charged madly forward, joined by the flood of faithful. The flails screamed madly with the hum of energy crackling in their lashes. Chain weapons screamed like ravenous beasts screaming for blood. Gunther refused to watch, expecting the absolution of death to come to him with his eyes calmly closed. Miguel was certain they would be swarmed. The Firewarriors were too few and the kroot's bayonets would be no match to the adamantium teeth of the chain blades. None of this occurred the xenos as the Firewarriors followed brilliant the spots of light illuminated from the pathfinders' markerlights and they opened fired with ruthless affect. Their volleys were disciplined and coordinated, each wave of pulse rounds mowed down more and more of the frenzied lunatics but their enemies came closer and closer. The kroot, ever ready, had emptied their magazines and were ready to spring into action. Being able to see the individual teeth of the chains despite their rapid circulation along the blade of the sword, Miguel began to back away as the kroot pushed forward.

"We're going to die!" Miguel screeched in panic.

Explosive energy bursts rained down from overhead as the roar of jet engines filled the room. Shadows descended along the walls and had the Firewarriors broke their concentration, they would have seen five large crisis suits launch themselves from the above platform. Columns of ultra heated fusion energy rained from the arm mounted weapons from three crisis suit regulars, their shoulder mounted plasma rifles joined in with Diamoto's own, the xeno commander at their head as they screamed through the air. The final crisis suit showered waves of burning promethium from twin flamers mounted on its arms. The xeno juggernauts slammed into the frantic wave of fanaticism, many of the Repentia and flaggalents being crushed on impact when the suits executed their hard landing. The sudden arrival stagnated the charge, the crisis suits firing point blank with their fusion blasters and weapons, Diamoto launching himself into the thickest of the mob, weapons unloading and the blade of his onager gauntlet sundering all before him.

One Repentia caught a crisis suit regular open and slammer her eviscerator into its thigh. The heavy weapon and its spinning teeth cut and sundered the nanocrystalline armor plating covering it. The machine immediately lost its balance and toppled over, crushing the priest under it. The last pockets of resistance were smothered under the fire of the flamer wielding suit while Diamoto rushed to intercept any targets he deemed to be critical. A surviving suit knocked over the repentia that took down his comrade with a bash of his shield generator before crushing her undefoot with a heavy slam.

All at once, the room became silent save for the former cries of anguish of the afflicted who were still in their corners, wailing as always. In shock, Miguel tried to take in the sight of the carnage the Tau had just unleashed despite their smaller numbers. Diamoto stalked around, still searching for threats while the flamer crisis suit barked out orders to the remaining two suits in the Tau language. One walked over to the wreck of their fallen comrade and rolled it over. Immediately, a section its chest piece unhinged and rolled aside just before its pilot removed himself from the command chamber. The distressed Tau fell and stumbled to the floor, clutching his leg and hollering in torment. Drones immediately swarmed to the pilot and two Firewarriors, having been ordered by their squad leader, immediately left the line to tend to the pilot. Miguel could not understand why the xeno was making a big deal about his leg. It looked whole and unmuddied to him.

Diamoto stared at the open door that the now dead priest had revealed. He wondered if it was just a preview of what lay ahead. If he truly knew what was to come, he would have ordered the air caste to obliterate this facility from orbit.


	4. Chapter 4

Diamoto continued to stare at the empty room in front of him, at least, it looked empty. No telling what further Gue'la madness was in there. It was also easier to focus on the problem that he was assigned to solve rather than listen to the anguished cries of Ui'Ivo, the pilot whose battlesuit was cut down by that Repentia with the oversized chainsword. The commander already knew what Ui'Ivo was suffering from. The battlesuit was the mantle of the hero to wear but with it also came the hero's burden. For a Tau firewarrior to be at the controls of a battlesuit, it stirred equal parts pride and exhilaration in their veins. Connected to the neural link of the machine, a firewarrior felt the power of his machine. He was able to fly with a boost of his jet packs, carrying weapons no Tau could lift on his own into battle, his senses were sharper than ever and he moved as fast as the raging storm.

But it was easy for this new power to get to the head of a battlesuit pilot and sometimes a worm would form in the mind of the firewarrior. Every pilot was susceptible to it. Battle worn veterans would often be found hobbling and falling over as if trying to fly in their suits. Some fell into comas that they never woke from when their machines were decapitated though they themselves had received no harm. As was the case with Ui'Ivo, his suit's leg was cut off and the worm in his mind made him refuse to believe his own was still whole. Diamoto could not assist his comrade, the drones and other firewarriors would have to help him. As for himself, he could only hope that such a fate would never befall him should his suit get shot down under him. So far, he had been lucky every time his suit fell in battle.

Diamoto waited for further scans and readings from the Pathfinders up top, giving him suggested layouts of the rooms ahead. They couldn't be sure but it was better than nothing. It also gave him time to listen to El'Vira take command of the situation. El'Vira was a growing star in the firewarrior ranks and she had been assigned under his command for final training to see if she would be worthy of the rank of Shas'O. Outfitted with the flamers, it was her job scan all the data coming in from the battlefield, determine the exact location of enemies and decide how to best respond to them, so long as Diamoto approved, of course.

"We need to get Ui'Ivo uptop again." Vira radioed to him through their internal communications systems.

"Make it happen." he agreed, deciding that her decision on that was a little longer than he wanted but deemed it acceptable.

The firewarriors and Kroot stepped off the platform and the still groaning Ui'Ivo was placed in the center, two drones guarding over him and applying the necessary amount of stabilizing medication. By now, the squad leaders must have gotten impatient or accustomed enough to the enemy machinery that they didn't bark at their captured Gue'la. Without a word, one Shas'Ui rushed up, hit the proper button on the command pedestal and scurried off before he was taken up with their wounded soldier.

"Make sure to command those up top to lower the machine back down. The others will need an escape route." Diamoto told Vira.

"Shas'O?"

"Always have room to maneuver. Always have room to escape." he told her before marching his machine forward into the empty room. Within a few moments, the platform was lowering again and came to a halt before them.

"Shas'O, Shas'El, we have an urgent message coming in from command." the Pathfinder Shas'Ui informed over the comm-link before a static filled message flooded Diamoto's ear.

"O'Diamoto, sensors and aerial fly-bys indicate a large gue'la force is encroaching on your location. They are bringing numerous armored vehicles and troops. Your mission objective still stands but you must be prepared to defend your position. The reinforcements we can send are limited. You have been given authorization to command all the forces there on location. Get the job done, Commander. For the Greater Good."

Diamoto stifled a grumble in his throat knowing that the comm-links were still online. War never went according to plan, even the grand tactician Commander Puretide had to adapt to changing situations though he often forced the Tau's enemies to fight on his terms. Quickly running through his options, he was even less thrilled with the conclusion he made.

"El'Vira, I need you to return up top. Take all our forces. You will command the defense while I continue investigating this situation."

"Is that wise, commander?" El'Vira asked. Diamoto felt a flash of anger. He needed prompt obedience, the last thing he wanted was his sub-commander voicing the very doubts he had.

"Do it, Shas'El. You will need to command at some point and I need every firewarrior up there defending. Bring our broadsides on the ridge overlooking this area and keep the Skyrays in reserve should they send in air support. The gue'la defense guns should also be readily available. This investigation I can do on my own. Hopefully it will not take long and I will be able to join the battle before it is over."

"Very well, Commander. For the Tau'Va." El'Vira said quietly as she took her place on the platform with the rest of the Firewarriors and the Kroot.  
"For the Tau'Va." Diamoto repeatedly numbly, reconsidering what he had to do. As El'Vira left, he turned his gaze back over to the prisoners. Perhaps the years of war was starting to change the way he saw things but for a moment, he felt a pang of solidarity with them when he saw the confusion and helplessness in their eyes. He was feeling something similar.

Miguel wondered why all the Tau except for this "Commander Diamoto" went and left in a hurry. Were the Tau leaving so that their commander could personally torture and kill them? That was possible and it wouldn't have surprised him though that thought sent a foul, chilly taste down his throat. But just a moment ago the commander was barking about needing him to open the doors and mechanisms in this place. Neither option was a palatable one. He still was rather attached to living and for the mechanisms in this place, that was the realm of the techpriests. How badly had he offended the machine spirits with his bold and unsanctioned actions?

"Stay behind me, humans. Do not get any ideas." the xeno warned as his machine stomped down the floor and led them deeper into this mysterious hole.

"You not worried we will run away?" Gunther asked in honest surprise.

"Where will you go?" the xeno retorted curtly.

"Uh...we could not follow you." the Ogryn bit back with impotent defiance.

"Gunther!" Miguel scolded with a hiss.

"You could and yet you choose not to. This facility is as alien and unnerving to you as the battlefield. You follow because it gives you something to do."

The ogryn tried to decipher what the xeno commander had said. It was like a confounding finger trap that he never could figure out and always ended up breaking to pieces with his immense strength. Then, a stray memory reminded Gunther that he shoudn't listen to xenos and the abhuman immediately became preoccupied with the conundrum of whether or not he should listen to the confusing statement that he couldn't decipher from the xeno and whether or not that was in fact listening to them.

Miguel stalked alongside Gunther reflecting on what he had just seen. As far as he was concerned, there was nothing out of place of an army of Repentia charging headlong into a xeno invasion force. And yet...something was wrong about the whole thing. There was another light in their eyes beyond the pure fire of staunch faith. There was something...else. But what was it? And why was he not able to simply fall to his knees and accept death like Gunther tried? Why was he being so fearful all of a sudden?

He remembered the first time he saw Commissar Dalhiem when his unit was being formed up, the cream of the PDF being trained into full fledged Imperial Guardsman, ready for campaigns off world, prepared to go where the Emperor needed them. Standing in formation, Miguel watched the black clothed Commissar stride right up to them, walking along the men standing at attention, inspecting them like a techpriest would inspect inner workings of a tank. The long red sash of his office swayed in the wind behind him. Dalhiem was old but clearly fit for his many years. There were an equal number of scars as there were wrinkles on his face. When he spoke, his voice was not loud but it was as firm as ferrocrete and as unwavering and confident like one of the many towering statues of the Imperium's heroes of old.

"I am Commissar Dalhiem. You all are now under my command and my watchful eye. You will do as I say. You will fight who I command you to fight. You will kill who I command you to kill. You will stand where I tell you to stand and you will die when I command you to die." the crusty old man barked. He sized a guardsman up and then moved on to the next one.

"Some of you may have heard that us commissars will execute anyone at any time. While that may be true of other commissars, I assure you men, I am different." Dalhiem stopped and then sent a chilling glare down their ranks so that all eyes were on him.

"I execute those who would make us fail the Emperor. By cutting out the weak, I make sure the rest survive. By purging those who would become traitors, I make sure the rest of you will be faithful. I have been doing this for a long time, soldiers. So, I will make it abundantly clear so that even the most dimwitted among you will understand." Dalhiem clasped his hands behind his back as the tails of his coat and his long red sash fell still against his form.

"Never surrender. Obey my orders and we will find glory in the Emperor. And trust me, soldiers of the Imperium, I will drag you to glory. You can find it either by facing the guns of our enemies or on the wrong end of mine. The choice is yours."

And there was something in the raw steel of that old commissar's voice that made them trust him. He knew how to inspire them. Commissar Dalhiem calmly held the line and strode forward when the Tau arrived and opened fire on them. His sword aloft and his bolt pistol firing away, he yelled the litanies of hate and gave the proper commands, urging them to glory.

"Stand proud! Keep those guns leveled! Never cease firing! Never surrender! Forward, men!" the Commissar roared as he had done countless times before. The fire in his eyes, the tranquility he brought to battle, it was all enough to keep the guardsmen under him planted in line, ready to win victory or die trying.

And it all vaporized with Dalhiem's disintegrated torso when a Tau pulse round struck him.

Miguel gazed up at this xeno commander and re-found his ire against his captors. Unfortunately, there was little sense in blindly throwing himself against the machine, especially without first consulting Gunther. He would have to wait and plan. After all, even if he knew nothing of this place, Diamoto was still a lone xeno inside an Imperial building. The odds were now stacked against this alien, or so Miguel surmised. But if they were going to strike their captor down, it would have to be in the right place and in the right time. The guardsman grimly realized that there was still going to be the prospect of execution by a commissar's pistol when this was all said and done but better to go as a disgraced guardsman than as an impotent coward.

In the meantime, there were a lot more questions to be puzzled out as the Tau led them across the room.

The first empty room led down a flight of stairs and that in turn led to another empty room save only for the numerous computer banks and various command podiums that only the tech-priests knew how to operate, much less what purpose they served. Miguel spotted a few more dead bodies, their red robes meant they had belonged to the Mechanicus before they went on to the Emperor's side. What was unnerving was the seeming randomness of how they were killed; no pattern, no clear modus operandi. One priest was clearly killed with a clean if savage blow to the head and then his corpse was left unmolested. Another was so savagely hacked apart only the mechanical wires of the machinery inside him was holding the tattered remains of his corpse together. Another was cleanly crushed by a servo-arm and then another was hacked apart limb from limb until the torso of the man was left to bleed to death in agony. None of it made sense.

"Gue'la. Activate that drone skull of yours." Diamoto ordered. Miguel looked up at him in confusion. He found the crisis suit staring back, an outstretched finger pointing to the opposite side of the room. Following the signal, the guardsman discovered that they had happened upon a lone servo-skull.

"Dat's a servo-skull, not a drone. AI is ferbidden." Gunther stated, obviously parroting important information he had so painstakingly remembered from what others had told him. Diamoto at least graced him with a nod of acknowledgement before urging Miguel with another flick of his finger. The guardsman had no choice and rushed up to the lonely floating machine.

Miguel wasn't sure what Diamoto was expecting. He certainly had no idea how to program or get anything out of a servo-skull. The little machines had always ignored him all his life and he in turn ignored them. They were not part of his domain. But the xeno had insisted and there was little point arguing with it. Miguel was an arm's length away from it when the glowing red eyes of the skull's sockets locked onto him. There was the sound of static and more mechanical noises before another voice filled the room and the occupants realized they were listening to a recording. Judging by the further artificial filter wavering in the recording, the speaker had been a techpriest.

"...The situation is no longer contained. Omnissiah protect us. I know not what is causing this madness. Perhaps a Magos Biologis could help us understand. All I know is that while some of the Adepta Sororitas are holding on, we've lost most of the occupants to these fits of insanity. I- what was that? Omnissiah! No! N-"

Miguel counted it as a blessing that the feed cut just before the priest's screaming became too horrific.

"Can you access any more information from the device?" Diamoto demanded urgently.

"I'm not a techpriest. I don't even know how these things work much less how to ask them for anything else." Miguel grumbled, arms raised in a shrug.

"Then we have exhausted whatever inquiries that can be made here. We must continue." the xeno projected over his speakers quickly before the machine lumbered towards the closed doors on the other side. Standing before the barrier, the crisis suit surveyed it back and forth before looking up and then waiting another moment. Finally, it turned around to look at Miguel and Gunther who was scratching his nose.

"I require your presence for it to open."

Miguel sighed and shook his head before standing next to the machine, keeping a comfortable distance away from the large claws which supported the battlesuit. The images of the Repentia being crushed under them were still flashing in his mind. Miguel took his spot and waved his hands a bit but the door refused to budge.

"Are more humans required?" Diamoto asked curiously, visor angled to look down at Miguel.

"I don't know."

Miguel could have sworn he heard a slight mechanical mumble of "useless."

"Gunther! Over here!" Miguel hollered as he now began to hop up and down, trying to attract the machine spirits controlling the door. Having a purpose, Gunther lumbered over and stood on the other side of the battlesuit and still the door didn't open. Stumped, Miguel made a sign of the cog that he had seen the techpriests make but that prompted no response either.

"We must seek every option to open it without resorting to live weapon fire." Diamoto stated. Miguel felt a light go on in head and he shuffled off and grabbed the derelict servo skull in his hands before rushing back before the door. The guardsman raised the skull as if trying to offer it to the machine spirits. He was rewarded with the eye sockets of the skull glowing brighter and with a gentle whine, the doors began to slowly open.

"About time, Gue'la." Diamoto muttered. Miguel shot him a wry look of irritation but let it go the moment he realized the enormous gun strapped to the battlesuit's wrist was scant millimeters from his head.

The doors suddenly swung wide revealing a long corridor made up of a narrow metal grill floor. Like so many other places he had seen so far, most of the lights had been deactivated. The only one that was functioning was right above the entrance on the other side of the threshold revealing the walkway. Beyond that, Miguel couldn't see through the darkness. Diamoto did not move for a moment as if surveying what lay ahead. Cautiously, even for a robot, his machine made one step forward and then another, Gunther and Miguel falling in behind him.

"Grab hold of the railings, humans. It will prevent you from stumbling." the xeno informed them before continuing.

Miguel couldn't help but notice how slowly the machine was making its progress. Its immense size and comparative weight in the metal environment meant there was no way any illusion of stealth and infiltration could be maintained. It was almost as if the alien was uneasy despite the immense war machine he was encased in.

"The xeno only fears failure and for those placed under him. The fanatics before wanted something to fear and so invented it, embracing fear and allowing it to rule them."

Diamoto's footfalls suddenly stopped dead in their tracks. Both Miguel and Gunther immediately copied his example having long lost any sense of vision in the dark space, only being able to navigate by following the machine's steps and clinging to the guide rails.

"Get down low, gue'las. Stay behind my battlesuit." Diamoto warned. Miguel immediately became alarmed. Unknown to him, multiple alarms were ringing within the battlesuit warning of weapons targeting systems being aimed directly at it. While the guardsman could not be privy of that, he did spot a single flame burning dimly within the darkness. He immediately recognized it as the ignition flame of a promethium sprayer weapon.

"Oh, sh-"


	5. Chapter 5

Shas'El Vira gazed over the ramparts of the building and watched the north-east. The terrain was dark and foreboding as a long plain punctuated only by the derelict buildings and broken tanks stretched out before her. All the reports of the Gue'la retaliation force indicated that was where they would come from. Air caste Razorshark fighters were dispatched to harry their approach but they had to be prepared for any remnants of the enemy that survived. The rain was coming down even harder, torrents sloshing over the nanocrystalline armor plates that lined her battlesuit. She looked around, observing the cadre as they took their positions along the battlements, the squad leaders manually overriding the controls on the nearby weapon emplacements and turning them to the appropriate directions. Their progress was slow as the rain made the ground muddy and the ferrocrete floors slippery.

"Shas'El?" The pathfinder squad leader radioed through the comms array. She could already tell he was bearing bad news.

"Go ahead, Shas'Ui."

"I've been keeping tabs on our networks. The Razorshark wing that was sent to intercept our attackers...they've been shot down. The enemy have a Hydra flak tank with them."

Vira closed her eyes and bit her lips. She had been expecting the Gue'la to figure out how to counter their tactics but she was hoping they would have taken a little longer. She remembered from the numerous studies and information briefings that an Imperial Hydra flak tank was a menacing weapon of war, a giant quad-gun mounted on a heavy chassis and was certain death to any flier that found itself in its crosshairs. Unfortunately, that also meant once the skies were clear those very same guns would be raining monstrous rounds on their troopers. She couldn't allow that weapon to pin them down when they got here. Weighing her decisions, the sub-commander realized she only had one option to counter that.

"I need all Hammerheads under my command to head north-east. Intercept our enemy. Your primary objective is to destroy their anti-aircraft vehicles. All other targets are to be taken as opportunity arises. Feign a retreat back to this position but take out those AA guns before they get here!"

"Understood, Shas'El. We are on our way." the lead tank commander radioed back. Below her, three murky shapes in the dark hovered and slinked away into the night with barely a sound, the long barrels of their railguns already searching and scanning for targets.

"Do you think that will be enough, Shas'El?" the pathfinder veteran asked quietly over a direct channel.

"I don't need them to annihilate the enemy. I just need to make sure we've beaten them before they get here."

* * *

"Not another step, xeno!" a voice cried out.

Diamoto scanned his data screen which only served to warn him of the increasing odds. There were at least 20 weapon signatures being detected, all of them belonging to what the Gue'las called their "bolter" weapons and he didn't need sophisticated equipment to spot the flamer in the darkness despite his systems also warning him about it. The iridium plating on his suit was made to stop all but the heaviest enemy fire but it wasn't foolproof and he wasn't keen on recklessly challenging a fortified position.

"Do not resist and there will be no bloodshed." Diamoto replied through his speakers, hoping the translation software was easily understandable in the maddening human language.

"How did you get past the Lost on the other floors?" the same voice shouted back. Diamoto saw that none of the weapons were being lowered. They were only straightening out, no doubt as the defenders were further able to lock in on him. Normally he would be able to simply fire the jets on his suit but he had to keep the other two humans behind him alive. It would be difficult to find any other equally docile Gue'la to order about and that would slow down his investigation. Instead, he voted to warm up his own weapons which was done in clear sight of his challengers.

"It was done with ease." he replied, gambling that brash statements could be misconstrued for cold truth.

"Stop! Enough! Xeno, what is your business here and how did you get in?" a more authoritative voice barreled through the halls. A light went on revealing a large group of Sisters of Battle all in defensive positions, their weapons readied and trained on the giant. At their center, clad in elegant but heavy white armor, stood a young woman with stoic features but firm, hard eyes. Her hair was cut simply, the raven locks ending just below her jaw line while a large scar interrupted the line of her brow before cutting a pock mark below her eye. These Sisters belonged to the order of the Argent Shroud.

"Your world is coming under the fold of the Tau Empire. There is a power source giving off staggering readings and it is located at these coordinates. I must investigate it." the commander replied, seeing no reason to further complicate the conversation. The Sister of Battle shook her head as if this was going to be filed as yet another headache on top of a heavy cache of others.  
"The Emperor has a sense of humor." she muttered irritably. Stealing a glance away from the titan in front of her, she noticed two sheepish looking guardsmen, one an exhausted looking soldier clutching a servo-skull as if his life depended on it, the other an ogryn with the usual empty look in their eyes.

"Surrender and there will be no need for bloodshed." Diamoto repeated. He could tell from the icy glare he got that, as usual, the Gue'la associated that act with unthinkable blasphemy. It was probably right up there with "logic."

Everyone looked over when they heard the sound of rapid footfalls only to spot a man in long, ornate robes shuffling over as fast as he could. He was probably in equal parts hindered by the long garments and a sickly physique.

"...A Tau!" the man declared excitedly. Despite his thin frame, features and a plain face, the man's eyes were large and easily lit up when excited. A nearby Sister rolled her eyes. The superior looked at him as if unsure to either pity him or give him a deft knock over the head.

"He'd be perfect!" the newcomer said earnestly, absolutely beaming as if this foul xeno was a god-emperor send.

"Explain, Durnis." the head Sister replied sternly, the classic tone of a commander with far too many things on their mind to be delayed for long.

"Tau are resistant against the influences of the Warp and we long suspected that's exactly what causing all the nonsense in this Emperor forsaken place. He'd be able to go right in, especially when we can't afford to send your Sisters." this Durnis speculated confidently.

"Wait, what was that about the Warp?" Miguel sputtered in panic.

Diamoto frowned inside his suit and he wondered if these arrogant Gue'la forgot that he was able to understand them. A convoluted situation had been weaved. He had two of theirs with him as prisoners and was using them as battering chips and now this new group was seeking to use him as leverage in a situation that had gotten out of their control which apparently had been done without the knowledge of their fellow men. He was liking this situation less and less.

"Let them pass." the Sister commanded finally. The others hesitated if only for a moment before fully complying, lowering their weapons and stepping aside to make a path.

"Thank you for your patience, Sister Nymia." Durnis smiled. The Adepta only acknowledged him with cold look before fixating her glare on the approaching battlesuit.

"You're lucky these xenos are the most mild of our enemies."

Diamoto rolled his eyes within the cockpit, gritted his teeth and told himself that frustrations could be vented later.

"Follow me, xeno. I will explain what you must do for us." Durnis announced.

_"This game again. Point a thousand guns in their direction, fight them to a standstill and harry their supply lines and then the moment you come to the negotiating table, they sound like they are doing you the favor."_ the Tau thought wearily. He decided remaining silent was the best course of action.

"Why are there these two guardsmen escorting you? And where are your weapons?" Sister Nymia asked, fully aware of the breach of Imperium protocol for Imperial Guards to be without their guns.

"Well, we were-"

"They are under my custody." Diamoto interjected. Behind him, Miguel clammed up and fell ashen, especially wilting under Nymia's accusatory glare.

"You surrendered." she stated, the tone of her voice reserved for when it came upon her to turn a Sister out to join the ranks of the Repentia. Miguel sulked and said nothing.

"None of that really matters down here. We must solve the problem arising from this artifact because if we don't, it won't really matter how much control our men have above ground." Durnis warned with all the air of a Progenium tutor.

"Artifact?" Diamoto asked curiously.

"I should explain. I'm a scribe for Inquisitor Festus. It was his plan to bring this artifact which a mining team uncovered down here for further research. There are 90 levels going down towards the bottom floor where the artifact is resting. We need it destroyed now."

"And why didn't you destroy it sooner, Gue'la?" Diamoto grumbled, still following the heavily robed man.

"Inquisitor Festus was adamant about continuing to research it." Durnis shrugged.

"And now he is done researching?"

"Inquisitor Festus is dead." Sister Nymia said bluntly.

"And why haven't you sent your own people to destroy it?" the Tau pressed further, not caring for the death of one of the Imperium's officials.

"You've no doubt seen how some of our people are...acting. Though your clearing of the top floors will be most...helpful. With that front gone the Sisters will be more fully able to protect the passages leading down."

"Why are your people acting this way?" Diamoto pressed further.

"We don't fully understand why. The relic should be sealed and yet anyone would be a fool to say that there's no connection. That's why we had a full army pulled from the Ecclesiarchy to defend it supported by regular troops. We hoped their usually stronger faith would be able to help them hold fast but...well, lets just say Sister Nymia and the small group you see here are all that's left."

"A whole army went insane and you're sending me to fight them all." Diamoto growled, glaring down at Durnis.

"I am not completely familiar with the Tau but couldn't you send in troops to aid you?" Secretly, Durnis was hoping that by sending the Tau to destroy the artifact, he could accomplish both goals of stopping the madness as well as snuffing a few more xenos.

"That is none of your concern. Just tell me how the madness begins and what to look for. Not all of your wretches were the same judging from what I saw previously."

"Ah, good observation! It appears your race has a spark of cleverness to it." Durnis replied, more to himself as he scratched his chin and further scrutinized the construction of the battlesuit. Diamoto fought the urge to make a petty comeback.

"We're not sure. We don't even know which branch of chaos this artifact is aligned with. None of our records even indicate an incident similar to what's going on now. None of it makes sense."

Diamoto stared at him and finally couldn't hold it back any longer.

"I've seen fresh and inexperienced Fio'las run a waste processing plant better than this."

Durnis was not sure what to make of the comment, not even registering it was meant to be an insult, and simply nodded.

"I will continue. I will fix your mess but my charges will be accompanying me." the xeno commander announced, pointing a finger at Miguel and Gunther who were loitering nearby.

"I agree." Nymia butted in, still looking at the guardsmen scornfully. "I know not the situation of how you got here but I believe if we are to try their souls to see if they are pure, a test of purity must be made. If they survive the ordeal following this xeno, we will know they have the Emperor's blessings." she reasoned.

"Who am I to argue?" Durnis shrugged. Miguel's heart sank while Gunther continued with his frown.

"Do we at least get some armament?" Miguel asked desperately.

"The Emperor protects." Nymia tutted. The guardsman sighed forlornly.

"I'll do what the Emperors says." Gunther said resolutely, having somehow understood everything. The ogryn's jaw was set in determination as his eyes shone with a new fire. For a moment, Nymia had to respect the abhuman. Miguel wished he could have his compatriot's oblivious bravery.

"Show us the way and I will fix your mess." Diamoto ordered, no longer willing to wait or trade words. Durnis nodded and shuffled forward. Sister Nymia motioned for her fellow Sisters to follow.

The late inquisitor's assistant led them all down a flight of stairs which abruptly emptied into a narrow corridor already heavily guarded by Sisters who were fortified against impromptu defensive positions, stacks of heavy crates fashioned to provide adequate protection. Immediately in front of them was a heavy door, the empty eye sockets of the skull motif seemingly glaring at them in grim foreboding. Or fear.

"I can hear people on the other side." Gunther observed. Miguel thought that was a very mild way of understanding the shrieks and howls that resounded with different degrees of blind rage and madness.

"Let the xeno draw most of their attention. Do not fire unless you absolutely must. We have to conserve our ammunition." Sister Nymia ordered her fellow Adeptas.

"Your being able to hold this position despite the long odds is commendable." Diamoto replied simply to the head Sister. "Your hemming yourself into this trap, however, is a higher folly." Sister Nymia didn't even dignify his condescending assessment with a response.

"Open the doors! Let us be done with this." Durnis ordered. Sister Nymia glanced over at him nervous but nodded to her subordinates. One of them pulled a switch nearby but then pointed at Miguel.

"You best keep that servo skull you've been clutching. You'll need it to open these doors. Step in front of the door and present it. It'll satisfy the machine spirits."

Miguel gulped in a dry throat and clenched his eyes shut for a moment before stepping forward, hands trembling as he walked in front Diamoto's crisis suit and shakily presented it to the door. The empty sockets glowed and with a whine of metal, the barrier began to recede open and with them an amplification of the howls beyond.

"Throne help me!" Miguel squeaked and scrambled back behind Diamoto, completely ignoring the disdainful looks he was getting from the Sisters of Battle who all had their bolters and flamers ready.

"Through boldness; victory!" Diamoto roared as he saw the black shapes of the crazed madmen beginning to step from the gloom. The chambers on his ion blaster spun faster and faster before abruptly stopping and a ball of energy erupt from its muzzle, detonating within the midsts of his targets. The corridor echoed with the sounds of the Tau weaponry discharging ionic blasts and plasma fire, the eerie light flashing against the walls as the crisis suit slowly stomped forward amidst the occasional bark of bolter rounds streaking through the dark.  
"Forward!" the Tau cried as Miguel and Gunther followed slowly on his heels as the guns continued to mow down and vaporize the dark shapes that were growing thinner and thinner. Miguel barely noticed they had crossed the threshold of the door when he heard the ancient machines stirring and whining. The last he saw before the barriers closed was Sister Nymia staring at them.

"The Emperor have mercy on your souls."


	6. Chapter 6

El'Vira's heartbeat echoed and raced within her ears. It had spiked just a few minutes ago when she heard the news. And to think it had nothing to do with the tense battle about to erupt right before her eyes. The last she heard, the cadre's hammerhead crews were dodging and trading fire with the Imperials' Lehman Russ battle tanks all the while trying to get a lock on the Hydra flak tank in the center of the armored formation. Under normal circumstances they would have whittled down the opposition until they easily destroy the target but that required time and time was not a luxury they had.

And now the stakes had just gotten higher.

The head of her battlesuit turning, she noticed an approaching drop craft. Gracefully balancing on its four thrusters, the ship turned until it was near the ramparts of the building and the ramp lowered to reveal a lone figure, it's silhouette dark against the backlights of the craft's loading bay. Stepping out into the rain and accompanied by two drones, one helpfully floating over the newcomer's head to shield him from the rain, the arriving Tau quietly but proudly stalked over to El'Vira's suit. El'Vira brought her machine down to one knee and mimed a bow with the warmachine before standing back to her full height. Apparently, one of the Ethereals, the ruling caste and spiritual advisors of all the Tau, had seen fit to visit the battle personally.

"Aun'vre Img, you grace us with your presence but I am fearful for your safety. A battle is about to occur here and I-"

"Be at peace, Shas'El Vira." Aun'vre Img said, his voice soft and gentle like water but unyielding as the hardest stone. Walking past her, the Ethereal whose robes didn't even seem to rustle in the storm, stepped up to the ramparts and gazed out on the battlefield below.

"Our enemies will be coming through here?" he asked curiously.

"Yes, Aun'vre Img." El'Vira replied quickly and took a moment to scan the cascade of data being fed into her systems. The hammerheads still had not claimed their objective.

"You are a promising member of the fire caste, Shas'El Vira. It is...unfortunate, that you had to serve your period of sub-commander under the tutelage of Shas'O Diamoto. That is why I intend to have you transferred as soon as possible, if not outright have you promoted to full commander if you perform well in this battle." the Ethereal explained, casting her a look from over his shoulder.

El'Vira stared at him in surprise. "Aun...I- I am honored, but...what's wrong with Shas'O Diamoto's direction?"

Aun'Img sighed heavily and closed his eyes as his head hung, carefully weighing the words he was about to speak. "O'Diamoto is an experienced commander. No one questions his loyalty to the Tau'Va. But his tactics are...different. Surely you've noticed the unconventional tactics he's used, dropping crisis suits directly into the thick of battle, trying to show other firewarriors how to fight barbarically in hand to hand when it is far safer to engage the enemy at range. The tactics work well for O'Diamoto himself but have you noticed how many crisis suit pilots are wounded under him?"

"O'Diamoto believes that we must be prepared for every situation and sometimes the situation dictates approaching the enemy where they believe we are weak and prove to them they are wrong. In some cases, engaging the enemy at range would put us at a disadvantage instead of engaging them directly where they cannot setup their weapons." El'Vira explained with the utmost respect.

"O'Diamoto's understandings are noble but he loses too many men. We do not want you to pick up bad habits, sub-commander."

"I understand, Aun'vre." El'Vira nodded and fell silent. It lasted only a moment before her communications array exploded with the chatter of the three hammerhead crews.

"This is Steel Wind; Bright Fire and Stone Eye, we must take that Hydra tank out now! Are their tanks pursuing you?"

"Negative! They're keeping in tight formation! We cannot draw them away!"

"Swing around and turn your thrusters in reverse! Stone Eye, do not expose your rear armor!"

"Affirmative, Steel Wind! We are-" the communication chatter cut short in time with the sound of a distant explosion. For a moment, El'Vira was certain they lost another brother in arms. Aun'vre's curious but unrelenting gaze was not making the minutes tick by any faster.

"This is Stone Eye, we've taken some damage but our systems are still functional!"

"This is Shas'El Vira," the sub-commander interjected, finding her opportunity. "All tanks, break off and engage the flanks of the enemy formation! Take out that Hydra Flak tank-"

"Respectfully, Shas'El, the Gue'la are bringing in air support! We noticed their signatures on our sensors earlier and they are heading this way." Steel Wind reported quickly. The young commander let out a desperate breath as she weighed her options.

"Hammerheads, continue to seek your targets and harass the enemy from the flanks. Broadsides, use your rail weapons to engage the enemy armor but take out air targets of opportunity. Skyrays, I want your attentions focused on clearing our skies! Squad leaders, you must use the Gue'la guns to target the fighters as well! We must defend this position! Stand united, firewarriors!"

* * *

Sister Nymia turned on Durnis. Popular opinion was that the Sisters of the Argent Shroud were more level headed and stoic than their fellow Adepta Sororitas orders. Nonetheless, recognizing a tactical error was more than she could tolerate and she was just as mad with herself for only now realizing it.

"Durnis!" she shouted at the retreating scribe, already having long left the scene.

"Yes, Sister?"

"Why didn't you tell them about the special prisoners we have down there?"

"If I did, the xeno may have changed his mind or would have waited for reinforcements. We cannot afford either of those."

"Or it could leave them in the metaphorical dark as well as the literal one and get them all killed!" Nymia snapped.

"That was a risk I was willing to take."

* * *

Miguel wasn't sure whether to laugh or continue staring in bewilderment. The guardsman knew that this enemy commander was piloting an advanced version of the usual crisis suits he had seen in the tactical sermons. Although he never knew it as the "Enforcer crisis suit" it was obvious enough that it stood a head taller than the standard versions, was probably built to withstand even more punishment and yet with the way the machine was hunched over and ducking, it seemed that the pilot inside was still succumbing to the instinct of trying to hide and sneak. The thing was comparable to a Sentinel walker; there was just no way it could try and creep around unnoticed within a building.

"Gue'las, look over there to the right." Diamoto muttered as quietly as his audio speakers would allow, which admittedly wasn't very quiet at all. Miguel and Gunther looked over to see the huddled figures of several Wretches weeping quietly in the corner.

"They may have working weapons. Help yourselves, quickly."

The ogryn and guardsman hurried over. Cautiously, Miguel saw that one of the figures was actually dead. A fellow guardsman in life, his lasgun and spare batteries were still loyally by his side. Muttering a quick thanks to the god-emperor and his fallen brother, Miguel respectfully took the weapons and ammo. A giddy wave of relief fell over him as he realized he was once again armed. Bathing in the new found confidence, he noticed that the next Wretch, hugging his legs and staring at the wall, had a discarded bolter next to him. An honest to god-emperor bolt gun. Miguel couldn't let that go to waste. Even if saw only one extra clip, it could still come in handy. The guardsman reached down and gathered them up. He immediately regretted that.

The Wretch tackled him to the ground and caught him off guard. The living corpse began screaming gibberish. It may have once been obscenities in the creature's broken mind but it sounded like nothing in any language. Even worse, the Wretch was beginning to claw at Miguel's face and the guardsman knew that given enough time, he could have his eyes ripped out. But he couldn't find his combat knife. The demon had his arm pinned under a thigh.

The living corpse was bashed off Miguel in one swift motion by Gunther's massive hands. The Wretch crashed into the wall where its head splattered a dark red pattern before sliding down and becoming an actual corpse.

"Thanks." Miguel breathed before getting on his feet and strapping the bolter to his back and hefting the lasgun. He looked over and saw that he almost forgot about the servo-skull. Floating stoically in mid-air, it was snatched up and strapped to his back alongside the bolter.

"I dun see a Ripper." Gunther mumbled, still searching for the signature and idiot proof auto-shotguns that were universally issued to the large abhumans.

"Hey Gunther, that looks like you could use it as a club or something." Miguel suggested, pointing at what may have once been a power ax that belonged to an engiseer. The blade had been badly damaged although the haft was still intact. To anyone else it would have been a large polearm but to an Ogryn it was indeed a simple but deadly club.

"...But dun those belong to the seers? Would the Ni'ssiah be mad with me if I took it?"

"I don't think the Omnissiah would hold it against you." Miguel smiled nervously, trying to appear reassuring.

"...Ok." Gunther agreed after a moment of hefty mental deliberation. He picked it up easily in one hand.

"Gue'la, are you prepared?" Diamoto snapped, breaking the silence.

"Uh, yeah!" Miguel called back.

"Good, because we have company. Prepare to engage the enemy. Lighting will be provided for your benefit."

One small light emitter shone from the battlesuit's torso and highlighted the area ahead which began to fill with the shadows of shambling Wretches, all of them apparently intent on doing them harm for whatever reason known only to them. Diamoto shifted on his mechanical limbs as if preparing for the fight.

"I will try to keep the bulk of the enemies off of you but you must also be prepared to defend yourselves."

"Please," Miguel snickered as he hefted his lasgun and shouldered it with all the practiced precision of a proper guardsman. "We've been fighting, killing, defending and conquering long before you xenos dragged yourself out of your caves."

"As you wish, Gue'la. Maybe I'll save some for you."

The darkness of the room immediately shattered and flashed with each burst of the battlesuit's weapons. Miguel joined in, his lasgun painting deadly beams of crimson energy. The lasgun was brutal to bare flesh. Faces would flash melt, a deadly crater forever creating a concave depression in a person's face and yet none of the blood as one would have expected because the energy sealed and cauterized the wound as it vaporized flesh. And while Miguel knew that while he was useless in most everything else in life, here he was in his element. He knew he was a good shot with his lasgun. This he knew how to do.

"Just knock the ones that come close to us, Gunther! Don't let them surround you." Miguel explained as his lasgun continued to scour into the dark shapes. Gunther grunted heartily in agreement, hefting his club and ready to use it.

Diamoto was happy to lead the crazed humans on a wild chase. Each pulse from the plasma rifle and ion blaster flash vaporized individuals but the weapons simply didn't have the weight of fire like a burst cannon or flamethrower did. His only other option was to fire his jets and bounce around, easily distracting the more simple minded wretches. It was almost too easy. When was the last time he had been in a situation this dark?

It was when he was chasing those Eldar corsairs. It led him to a world brimming with humans but these had long ago been separated by the Imperium. It was literally a feudal world where the Gue'la hid in castles, wore full suits of primitive steel for armor and highest in ballistic weaponry was building wooden engines to hurl boulders short distances. In his chase for the Eldar corsairs, Diamoto's cadre came upon this forgotten world and found that the humans were actually collared by another master; the Eldar's dark kin who fed their souls on the torment of others. This presence too would not be tolerated by the Ethereals and Diamoto's cadre was orderedto remove them. Until reinforcements arrived, they would be on their own.

The night raids of the Shadow Lance began in earnest.

Diamoto assumed they would be outnumbered. They always were. It took awhile for him to realize that the Dark Eldar were using their human cattle as troops. The slaves were thrown to fight the Tau and in the nightly raids, for every Dark Eldar pirate that was killed, ten, twenty, sometimes a hundred more humans died. To the Tau commander, the human loss was inefficient. They may have been meat shields but the Dark Eldar were the real enemy and this was slowing him down. He needed to cut of the head of the snake. He needed to find their center of operations.

It took several aerial flybys, some drone scanning but the Dark Eldars' central coven was sleuthed out. Diamoto ordered the killing blow and he would be the tip of the spear. Dropping in directly with his crisis suit teams, he was at the front of the line. He remembered it was El'Vira's first operation with him. She and some of the newer pilots were bewildered at such close ranges they would be dropping in with the enemy but Diamoto would not be persuaded otherwise. Only through boldness would there be victory.

The inner sanctum of the Dark Eldar was more perverse than Diamoto was expecting. Along every wall, occupying nearly every square meter was a broken, tortured body of some human or in rarer cases, a Dark Eldar who may have failed in his duties. Bodies were shredded to ribbons and yet somehow still breathing, limbs were horrifically broken and sometimes rotten yellow bones was exposed to the air while the victim remained living and aware. There was mutilation, there was rape and there were other deeds that had no words to describe them in the Tau vocabulary.

Diamoto felt no shame in admitting that when the hand of his crisis suit grasped the head Homunculus, the twisted mastermind behind all the sufferings of this planet, he enjoyed listening to the creature's bones crunch under the mechanical digits. Then he slapped its evil head against the floor. A final blow from the onager gauntlet reduced the villain into a fine red mist.

The Ethereals, having read the report of Diamoto's severe tactics, quickly had his cadre packed up and sent off to another area of need. Others would have to lead in the occupation and rebuilding process. Something bothered the Shas'O in how the Ethereals reacted. He noticed they had always treated him him with a cold, professional air but that was the first time he felt they were starting to display a sense of fear around him. Whatever transmissions he received from them grew shorter and fewer in between. He had not time to contemplate this change. He still had his duty to keep to the Greater Good.

The Tau commander came back to the present reality when he noticed a body fly right over his suit. Finding no other targets, Diamoto turned around to see the ogryn hefting his makeshift club as if winding up for another fight. The shorter guardsman loaded a fresh battery clip into his lasgun and gave him a confident smirk. The Tau was starting to wonder if he was going to regret letting them arm themselves.

"So how's that for humanity's fighting prowess eh, xeno? We don't need no big fancy metal suit to throw down with the rest of you." Miguel chuckled.

"And then how would you explain Space Marines?" Diamoto retorted.

"They're there just in case you decide to get uppity."

"You're bad at bluffing. Regardless, we do not have time to trade words. I assume your eyes do not work well in this low light? Follow my footsteps and we will get to our objective." Diamoto ordered and immediately began to lead the way, crushing bodies underfoot, much to the chagrin of Miguel and Gunther who had to pad behind.

* * *

"What progress are they making?" Sister Nymia demanded of Durnis who was busy watching the pict screens being fed to him by whatever servo skulls were left operating behind the doors.

"Several floors down. They're making good progress. But…" the scribe trailed off as he looked further down the pict screens and fixated on one particular image.

"It won't be long until they run into the first champion." Nymia breathed in a hush tone.

"Very soon. Very soon…"


	7. Chapter 7

_Author's Note: To those of us in the States, Happy Thanksgiving with a double post. To those who are not, happy double post! Also, thanks for all who are reading, following and reviewing. The support it greatly appreciated. _

* * *

The situation had become pitched. The Lehman Russ tanks began to form up but were forced between the choices of bombarding the Tau holed up inside the fortification or concentrating on the circling Hammerheads. El'Vira positioned herself in front of the ethereal to further protect him while trying to get a better view of the battle. One of the Imperial gunships strafed low and tore up a squad of Firewarriors before a fullisade of rounds fired from the squad's Shas'ui manning the gun emplacement riddled the aircraft and sent it corkscrewing away. Another gunship came low enroute to deploy its soldiers, elite storm troopers, on one of the side embankments. The nearby squad's Shas'Ui turned the quad-gun to lay down covering fire but promptly exploded into a ball of fire and shrapnel when an explosive round from a Lehman Russ found its mark. The Firewarriors rushed to reform amidst the intense beams of the invading stormtroopers' hellguns.

"Sub-Commander this is Steel Wind. We have silenced the Hydra Flak tank." the Hammerhead commander radioed. El'Vira let out a throaty chuckle.

"Engage all targets of opportunity. Broadsides, when our skies are clear engage the enemy transports." the blossoming commander ordered.

"This is Longspear team, orders understood!"

"This is Bright Star squad, we are being pinned down by Gue'la forces! Our Shas'ui is dead!" A young Firewarrior radioed. El'Vira remembered, they were the newest squad in the whole cadre and also the most inexperienced, fresh from the training centers of Sa'Cea. She needed to react fast.

"Hold your position, Bright Star squad. The Greater Good conquers all!" El'Vira roared and without another word she stepped up to the embankment, engaged the thrusters on her jetpack, rocketed over the turret and slammed down into the midst of the Gue'la storm troopers, a manuvure executed so many times under Diamoto it was second nature now. The bewildered troopers had only a moment before the night became day from El'Vira's twin flame throwers.

Overhead, Aun'Img stared down from the ramparts with disapproving eyes. Perhaps it was too late for the sub-commander. Diamoto's influence may have already taken hold and with them, the possible seed of the Mont'au the ethereal suspected was growing within Diamoto.

"Reform along the wall, Bright Star squad!" El'Vira hollered, pointing back to the arriving Gue'la vehicles when the last of the storm troopers was dead. Emboldened, the new Firewarriors lined up and aimed with their rifles as the familiar boxy shapes of Gue'la personnel carriers pulled up along the hill before stopping short of the tank traps.

"They carry a different insignia on the transports!" a fresh Shas'la observed outloud.

"Yes…" El'Vira murmured. She gritted her teeth and realized everything until now had been a mere warm up. Now they were in for a real fight. "Firewarriors! Hold fast! Make every shot count! Fire! Fire!"

The transports carried the flue-de-lis of the Adepta Sororitas.

* * *

_"The Wretches on the first floors invented fears for they were fearful to begin with. The Sisters you passed fear damnation and yet the primal fear, the survival instinct, is rooted so strong. What will the ones further below fear?"_

Miguel wondered how when he had gotten so contemplative, even more so with also having to keep alert and occasionally zap the errant Wretch that managed to get past Diamoto. The guardsman quietly suspected that the Tau was doing this more out of purposeful design to keep him and Gunther on their toes rather than through chance. It was clear the xeno warmachine had low light vision and at this point the obnoxious commander had shut off his only search light so to "not give away their position," nevermind the fact that his two human accomplices really needed that one search beam if they were going to be able to shoot at anything more than ten meters off.

"Dis is easy." Gunther muttered as he casually, almost carelessly knocked a Wretch aside with his oversized club.

Miguel didn't say anything but something about that observation bothered him. There was suppose to be a whole army down here but as they circled lower and lower through each floor, there just seemed to be less and less resistance. And while they still kept finding corpses strewn along the path, there were not enough to account for the lack of numbers they were currently experiencing. Something was not right, either that or it was going to get really difficult really quickly. And to top it if all off they were suppose to destroy some chaos artifact that even the most trained members of the Inquisition couldn't quite figure out. None of this suggested a promising future for anyone involved.

And yet the xeno commander kept trudging along on his battlesuit like it was just another chore to finish. "You are an interesting race." Diamoto finally said out loud so that they could hear, all intentions for stealth having gone out like most of the lights in the building.

"How so?" Miguel asked, still clutching his lasgun securely to himself.

"So inefficient, so wasteful, so foolhardy and brash and yet time and time again you find it in yourselves to accomplish something. It is bizarre. Inspiring at times, but nonetheless sad."

"Isn't your race younger than ours, xeno? You don't have the right to talk like an old man, like you have a monopoly on wisdom." Miguel retorted.

"But are they incorrect observations?"

"Hey, we're just better than the rest of you xenos, okay? Without us, the galaxy would be lawless and if the rest of you xenos just recognized that and stopped resisting, the whole galaxy would be better."

"You are mistaken. The Greater Good is a much better philosophy."

"You're a young race of upstarts! You know nothing of the galaxy! You're just naive juvies thinking you know it all when you don't have the slightest clue of how this galaxy really works!" Miguel snapped.

"Your god is a corpse." Diamoto replied irritably. Miguel stared at him, mouth agape, unable to react to such blasphemy. Gunther, not expecting anything different, simply trudged along as if nothing had happened.

The next few minutes passed by in the dim light, a near impenetrable fog and Miguel decided the best way he could navigate through was simply listening to the resonating bangs of the battlesuit's armored feet hitting the ferrocrete floor. The biting retort of the xeno's blasphemy still left a bitter taste in his mouth and for a moment he wished for all the world that he had a melta gun in his hands so he could flash melt the war machine and it's upstart pilot.

"We have reached a checkpoint." Diamoto announced with an abrupt halt.

Without thinking, Miguel produced the servo-skull he had dropped in his pack. Intense red beams of light flooded from the skull's eye sockets when the guardsman pointed them in the direction of the battlesuit's gaze. Mounted high on the walls was an engraved inscription clear for all to see provided they had some proficiency in Gothic.

"Its a warning. Extremely dangerous prisoners are held beyond this point. Only authorized personnel are allowed to go beyond and the door is to be closed at all times by order of the Inquisition."

"I see…" Diamoto murmured. "Then why is its instructions being ignored?"

"Hm?"

"The door is open."

The battlesuit produced a small but intense beam of light for Miguel's benefit and highlighted the wide open hallway beyond them. The barrier was clearly retracted all the way. The whole thing may as well have been a gaping, mortal wound inflicted on a devout citizen of the Imperium.

"Throne damn it." Miguel hissed.

"Uh, we have to keep goin. We have to do our duty." Gunther asserted though he grasped his club more tightly with both of his hands.

"No truer words have been spoken. Remain vigilant, Gue'la." Diamoto agreed and marched forward. This time, he made sure his battlesuit's claws landed lighter so to muffle some of the noise.

The bodies began to appear again as they continued on through the narrow hallways and empty room. Strewn about and left like discarded trash, the smell was starting to become near overpower for Miguel. He wasn't sure if his ogryn friend was affect by it at all but he wondered if perhaps Gunther's poor hygiene gave him some sort of immunity to it.

"These bodies are badly decayed." Miguel coughed, accidentally catching a mouthful of foul air.

"Deh look funny." Gunther added, casting a glance and frown at them.

"Onboard sensors suggest that secondary cause of death may have been high severity diseases." the xeno reported, continuing to stalk on.

"Disease?" Miguel asked in disbelief before giving them another look. He made sure to take an extra step away from them.

"Affirmative."

"But that wouldn't make any sense." the guardsman argued. "Why would there be diseases here when there are suppose to be prisoners?"

"There are few things you Gue'la do that I find logic in. If you cannot explain this mystery to me then I have no hope of figuring it out for myself." Diamoto grumbled.

"It is not in my place to question the wisdom and doings of the Inquisition!" Miguel snapped.

"I pity you Gue'la warriors. The higher up the chain of command, from what I have observed and work with, the less sense I have seen or the more convoluted of logic. Fitting I suppose, when at the very top of your empire the emperor is a corpse."

"Stop saying that! You know not what you speak of, wretched xeno!"

"We shouldn be yellin. They may be plannin an ambush. Dats what the Com'sar always said." Gunther interjected. The two looked at him in surprised and realized the folly of what they were doing. The timing was perfect. They could hear the sounds of battle up ahead.

The three stumbled into a larger room from where they found two doorways on either side and in front a hallway that looked like it led to a large catwalk. A moment of contemplation told them that the ruckus was happening in the room off to the left. A quick consultation of the servo-skull's map imaging and the rough schematics Diamoto pulled from his pathfinders' earlier equipment soundings told them they needed to go forward.

"It is better to let the enemy kill themselves while we sneak past." Diamoto said as quietly as he could. Miguel could detect the sound of a heavy chainblade roaring in fury. The terrifying booms resounding meant that whatever shape the chainblade came in, it was large and heavy.

"Right, you think we can do that?" Miguel inquired furtively.

"We must try. Hurry Gue'la."

The three made it to the edge of the doorway before Diamoto leaned his battlesuit lower to gaze into the doorway. He wasn't quite sure of what he saw except that it appeared to be two figures and both were locked in heavy combat. The one that most caught his attention was a large man wearing armor from metal clearly fashioned from scraps he had found and were given a rudimentary splash painting of red and yellow. This large man was hefting a large, two handed chain ax around, trying to kill a more agile opponent. The two were more engrossed in killing each other than what was going on in the doorway. Diamoto's battlesuit flicked a finger forward prompting Miguel and Gunther to shuffle past the door as quickly as possible. Left with no other choice but to make his own move, the Tau stepped forward just in time to watch the ax man bring down a violent overhead chop and rend his opponent, a six armed creature, in twain. Without missing a beat, the bloody fiend turned his head and spotted the large crisis suit in the doorway.

"Move, move, move!" Diamoto hollered as Gunther and Miguel rushed ahead and onto the grilled catwalk that was ahead of them. Underfoot, some 20 meters below, was an aqueduct ferrying a strong current of black water. Perhaps in a time past the sound could have been soothing but now it was drowned out by the crashing of heavy footsteps, frantic panting and the demonic roar of a massive chainax.

"You just had to give away our position, didn't you?" Miguel snapped at Diamoto as he scrambled madly in front of Gunther.

"Crisis suits were not made for stealth operations."

As the three made their way onto the large catwalk that led further into the dark depths of the facility, they heard another set of foot steps stamping behind them. Miguel chanced a look and saw their enemy with his own eyes. Large, brawny and wearing home made armor that was probably scavenged if thick pieces of scrap metal washed in red paint. The man under the armor seemed to have muscles built to their peak. The metal helmet that covered the man's face was completely sealed save for a narrow slot for his eyes. On the chestplate was familiar but eye burning symbol. Miguel felt the spindly, icy cold talons of fear constrict around his spine. He heard stories of cultist champions, fools who traded their souls to secluded cults to the gods of chaos and within these little enclaves, some became the largest fish in the pond. They were still underlings in the greater scheme of the Ruinous Powers but they were still rising stars and woe to the fool who underestimated them. Judging by the icon engraved on the brazen chest plate and rusted in blood, this roaring, snarling individual was a champion of a Khornate cult.

"Blood! The Brazen Throne demands blood!"

"Move, you fools!" Diamoto urged while his plasma rifle swung around over his shoulder and fired potshots as their assailant. Though they were close, all the super heated bolts missed their target.

"We got a problem, there's something blocking the path." Miguel hollered.

Like some bloated grox, a blackened, disgusting corpse had come to it's final rest on the catwalk. Judging by the torrent of black fluid dripping underneath and draining down the grill of the interlacing steel floor, the corpse had sustained a large and mortal blow to the front. But who or what was this corpse and why was it here? And even worse, why was it so large that the only way they could get over it was to climb?

"Look at the mark on its back." Gunther muttered before clutching his club more tightly. They could hear Diamoto, and the Khornate champion, getting closer. Miguel took the precious few moments they had left to study what mark Gunther was talking about. Then, peering through the blackened muck that had accumulated on the carcass' back. He finally caught it. Three circles around three arrows all going out from a central point like a three rayed star. Nurgle.

"How many cultists champions do they have down here?" Miguel hollered in desperation before swinging around and pointing his lasgun in the direction of the approaching champion.

"We can't get over the corpse! If we touch it we'll get a disease. It belonged to a champion of Nurgle!" the guardsman hollered to their xeno handler.

"We'll have to stand and fight." Diamoto grumbled before turning around to face their attacker. He completely misjudged how close the Khorne warrior actually was to him.

The axman swung low so to take the battle suit off it's legs. Diamoto barely stepped back in time and the spinning teeth of the axhead combined with the momentum of the blade chewed right through the light construction of the catwalk, tearing a gash right through it.

"We must maximize our firepower. Gue'la, open fire!" Diamoto ordered just after engaging his jetpack and flying right over the head of the Khorne warrior and landing some distance behind him.

Miguel peaked out from Gunther's side and unleashed a fusillade of searing red energy. Some rays missed their mark but the ones that scored home simply melted armor. From Miguel's reckoning, he merely scorched the metal armor he hit which only served to make the warrior within more enraged.

Miguel and Gunther lurched when they felt the metal shake and jolt under their feet. Whatever relief they might have had from the champion becoming more interested in Diamoto evaporated with the realization that the footing under them seemed to have grown unstable. But why? Miguel looked down at the corpse again and noticed the necrotic juices that had seeped under the corpse.

"Is the metal...bubbling? Is it corrosive?"

The corpse fell through the flooring. The section carrying Miguel and Gunther followed close behind.

Diamoto could only watch helplessly as his human helpers became victims of gravity and then disappeared into the rushing water below when the walkway section crashed into the flood. Circling through the air, the Tau realized that he could only handle one emergency at a time and with the two guardsman gone, he could at least clean up this mess.

"Fight me, coward! I will present your skull to Khorne as a-"

The Khorne cultists was remarkably resilient but there are few things that can withstand a precise and unrelenting barrage of ion and plasma fire.

Diamoto landed on the other side of the walkway and considered the water under him. "There is a possibility the Gue'la are still alive. If they are, they can still make the passage within this facility easier…" he murmured. "But...I still could try to get through it myself."

Realizing just how alone he really was down here, he trudged forward. Finding the two Gue'la had just become his foremost objective.


	8. Chapter 8

Up along the ramparts, the black camouflaged pathfinders held their position, most of them searching and highlighting targets with their markerlights while the specialists in their group rained deadly fire with their rail rifles. Their squad leader, the Shas'Ui, watched the battle lines grimly before lobbing a photon grenade with the underslung launcher on his carbine.

"Shas'El! The Tau sept Firewarriors are beginning to withdraw from their positions! The Gue'la will overwhelm us soon!"

El'Vira frowned as she considered the flood of data streaming into her HUD. Acting as an information nexus, she then transmitted this data gleaned from the numerous onboard sensors to the appropriate teams. And yet for whatever good the battlefield awareness provided, it didn't change the fact that their Sisters of Battle opponents were practically battering through their defenses, half of the pulse rifle rounds simply disappaiting off their adamantium armor. Armed with meltaguns, flamers and bolters, these fierce women were making bloody work on El'Vira's cadre and their Tau sept comrades. For every pulse round that smashed through adamantium and flatten the Sister of Battle under the armor, a bolter would embed deep into a trooper's chestplate and then promptly explode to gory effect.

But what could she do? They were told to hold this position. And even worse, if they withdrew then the Gue'la would flood back into the building and the Shas'O would be surrounded and without support. Unless…

El'Vira launched herself back onto the central tower next to the Ethereal so she could better watch their next maneuver. "All Devilfish pilots, execute emergency withdrawal procedures like we've practiced. Bring in all armored support! I want all forced to withdraw behind the building!"

As if from the shadows the sleek forms of the Devilfish transports roared from their hidden positions and began to hover in place near their assigned squads, some hovering right over the Tau sept transports which had already whisked away their squads. As the Firewarriors scrambled into the open hatches, the transport pilots rained down fire and shrapnel from their ships' mounted burst cannons and smart missile systems.

"Such evacuation procedures exceed our designated safety specifications." Aun'Img murmured disapprovingly. Standard procedure dictated that the Firewarriors should have withdrawn a long time ago and for the pilots to discharge their weapons systems so heavily while loading was considered dangerous for the troopers if there was a weapons malfunction while they were boarding.

"This has become standard procedure for our cadre, Aun. Our Earth Caste technicians are extremely thorough in testing and maintaining our equipment and weapons to prevent malfunctions." El'Vira explained patiently as the Ethereal's personal transport arrived.

"Next you'll tell me you have a Firewarrior squad that drills for melee combat."

"Yes. Stonedagger squad regularly drills for close combat situations. It has saved their lives on two occasions."

El'Vira was not sure what to make of the look on the Ethereal's face before he marched up and into his ship.

"I want a fire line watching this side of the south side of the building!" El'Vira hollered as she watched the Devilfish form into place and the Firewarriors began to disembark, slinking into whatever natural cover they could find.

"We only need to make sure none make it inside! It's the building's only entrance!"

* * *

Doors were suddenly a monumental difficulty without those Gue'la and their little skull drone that seemed to give them immediate access. Left to his own devices, Diamoto was forced to smash through the heavy metal work of the barriers. Not only was this noisy but the repeated blows of his onanger gauntlet consumed the energy reserves of his suit and he often had to pause to allow the reactor to power up again. Even worse than making him feel vulnerable, it was slowing him down. Not to mention it allowed every enemy on the other side to prepare themselves for when he inevitably burst through. He found that out the hard way on the last door. He had scarcely broken through when the Wretches on the other side were already trying to claw their way through the hole he had made, trying to tear at him. At least being bottled up like that made them easy targets for his ion blaster.

Diverting all spare energy into his bladed gauntlet, Diamoto threw another blow into the door and was rewarded to see a whole section open up, enough to allow him to pass through even if he had to position his suit into a crouching position. Stepping into the room, he noticed four pillars. He just registered them before alarms began to blare on his HUD. Weapons signatures were being detected. Looking up, Diamoto found an Imperial quad gun mounted on the ceiling staring back at him. It was all he could do to rush away from that position and find safety behind one of the pillars.

"The machines! The machines! They cry out!" a demented voice cackled from the other room. Now not only was he pinned down but more of these crazy Gue'la were coming.

Emerging from a nearby door, a Gue'la abomination of what had once been a man now with heavy cannons grafted into his arms in place of his hands was approaching. The Shas'O could not have known it but he was looking at a skitarii, the armed personnel of the Adeptus Mechanicus specifically built to defend their priests and whatever they deemed of importance. Specifically, this creature was a servitor made to provide heavy fire support with its two autocannons. The first flurry of rounds bounced off Diamoto's armored suit and the surprise forced him to jump over to another pillar, narrowly avoiding a hail of additional fire from the quad-gun.

_I'm pinned down with no support. The armor can deflect most of those rounds but it will only take one chink in my armor and I'll be looking at an unacceptable malfunction. Very well, time to test the experimental weapon._ Diamoto reached over to one side of his command throne and hit a switch.

An audible and eerie whine began to echo all through the room. Diamoto waited a moment before exposing himself for a second to fire his plasma rifle at the slow but relentless skitarii. The quad-gun and the human weapon fired back. Diamoto frowned.

"Keep waiting...keep waiting…" he muttered. On his back hung a large cylindrical electronics pod which also contained the experimental device. Other than the teeth chattering whine it was emitting, it appeared otherwise inert.

The crisis suit rocketed over to the next pillar, again narrowly dodging fire as he did so. One of Diamoto's ion blasts scorched a hole in the skitarri but the servitor kept right on marching, more machine than man at this point.

"Come on, come on!" Diamoto growled at the weapon which at this point was just a glorified noise box.

The commander jumped from his cover once again, focusing all his fire on the servitor who finally caved under the intense assault. Overhead, the quad-gun was able to fire off three rounds which all missed their target. The machine suddenly let out a horrific choke and screeched before the unfired bolt rounds glowed red hot in their feed lines. The gun exploded shortly thereafter.

"This is Shas'O Diamoto, personal note to our Earth Caste engineers," he reported to a voice recorder within his suit. The Fire Caste was very particular about record keeping when it came time to experimental weapons. "Regarding the neuroweb weapons jammer...it needs more work. The warm up time is a little too long for intense combat fights."

Sighing, Diamoto trudged along deeper within the facility.

* * *

Miguel coughed and sputtered as his vision slowly returned to him. The darkness around him wasn't much brighter than the total black of losing consciousness but made for a very slight improvement. His hands still clutched onto his lasgun like it was salvation from the Emperor himself. He began to recall the horrible feeling of weightlessness, the sound of water, the incredibly painful experience of getting hit by a massive volume of water and now...why was he suspended in mid-air?

"Are you better, Mig'el?" Gunther's voice asked in genuine concern.

"I'm fine, Gunther. Where are we?" Miguel coughed. Each breath felt like a dull shiv puncturing his lung. At least it was slowly beginning to recede.

"I dun know where we are. We uh, landed on this floor when the water flowed this way. I grabbed it then grabbed you."

"...Good thinking, Gunther. Now please let me down."

His once sagging legs landed on the floor. Gunther probably had a different definition of "gentle" compared to regular humans but Miguel was at least grateful to be alive. They appeared to be in a corridor of some kind although the guardsman could not be quite sure what purpose it served. That didn't really mean anything. The only things he was familiar with were his lasgun, marching, drilling and fighting. His betters handled everything else.

"We need to get out of here." he breathed mindlessly, shouldering his gun and peering down the hallway like it was an instinct known from birth.

"We need to finish our duty." Gunther reminded, as if trying to firmly cement the idea within his own little mind.

"Yeah, that too." Miguel brushed aside.

"...It's dark in here." the ogryn grumbled, clearly not liking the idea. It was a well documented phenomenon. Ogryn hated cramped, dark places. Many a barrel of rations were sacrificed, being tossed into the deepest part of a Chimera transport so to bait a squad of ogryn to follow. The ramp would be closed behind them and often the commanding Commissar or sergeant would be a little more wary about yelling out orders having wailed and threatened his throat raw.

"We need to keep going."

"I know." Gunther pouted. Taking a deep breath, the ogryn raised his club once again and found a new determination which shone in his eyes. Miguel smiled. Gunther certainly was not the brightest lasgun in the arsenal but there were times the big oaf was an inspiration. Miguel made sure his grip and posture was correct and comfortable.

"Lets go." he goaded, meant as much to be an encouragement to himself as it was to his ogryn friend.

The passageway remained dark and only grew darker. It also became more cramped. Miguel found himself stooping lower. Poor Gunther was practically hunched over. The guardsman realized that if they ever ran into trouble down here, Gunther would be forced to simply prod with his metal club. While that in itself would be dangerous considering that the big abhuman had more muscle in his arm than some humans had in their entire body, it didn't change the fact that Miguel still would have to provide the bulk of their firepower with his lasgun. It was not a comforting thought.

"Is getting too dark to see." Gunther moaned.

"Hold on…" Miguel breathed when he was finally able to admit it to himself. There was no sense fumbling around in the dark, especially in a passageway that only the engiseers and their acolytes had any business being in. There was a fumbling of straps and then a familiar whine. The passageway suddenly lit up when the servo-skull was release from Miguel's pack and it's eye sockets began to shine their eerie red beams.

The corridor continued going down deep into nothingness.

"I really hope this doesn't lead into an incinerator or...something." Miguel mumbled.

"We must uh...find a way to win. Duh Emperor demands it." Gunther replied quietly.

"Yes he does, Gunther." Miguel replied, not sounding all that convicted of the sentiments.

Miguel's heart leaped into his throat when the passage shuddered. The tremor, while not powerful, was enough make their teeth clack a few times.

"What was that?" the ogryn asked in bewilderment. There was an echo of fear in his voice.

"I don't know!" Miguel retorted, a little louder than he wished.

The lights of the servo-skull went dead.

"What do we do?" Gunther sputtered. Miguel definitely heard panic in the man's voice now. It wasn't helping his own inclinations towards the same either.

"Just wait, Gunther. Maybe I can do something." He tried reaching around in the dark, looking for the skull. Maybe if he got his hands on it he could...hit it or something. He saw the techpriests something do the very same thing. It was a recognized form of sanctioned machine maintenance in the event that the machine spirits were being mischievous and unresponsive. Miguel's sense of desperation only grew more restless against the strained cage of his self control as his hands and arms continued to grasp and flail in nothingness.

_"It is commonly said that man fears the unknown."_ Miguel's thoughts wandered. _"This is not true. Man does not fear the unknown because he cannot fear what he is ignorant of. Man fears that which he does not understand. Half truths, half lies, they feed on a person's fear. Man does not fear the dark. He only fears what the dark might hide and what terrors he tells himself are in it."_

Miguel suddenly realized the voice in his head...was not his own.

* * *

El'Vira began to fear that her gambit was turning sour. Crouched and in defensive positions just out of range of the Gue'las' bolters, the Firewarriors were letting out an unrelenting hail of pulse fire and yet the Sisters of Battle kept coming. Her forces were able to react almost instinctively to every move the Adeptas made thanks to El'Vira's constant information feed being disseminated by her suits' sensors and then feeding it to the appropriate squad leaders but while their enemies were being slowed they kept edging closer and closer to the door of Building 83. Both sides were clashing on the single building, becoming a circle of destruction all revolving around a single coveted point.

El'Vira's gaze jerked to the wooded ridge where their Broadside team was fortified and continued to harass the tank formation. The ridge suddenly exploded in a whirling ball of fire and earth. The sub-commander feared their Broadsides had been eliminated in one blast when she heard the whip-crack of the heavy rail rifles return fire followed by a hail of screaming missile. The broadsides were still operational but continued punishment like that would quickly fell them.

Right next to her a Devilfish transport that had been idly launching smart missiles suddenly mushroomed in fire and metal before the blazing wreck crashed to the ground. The nearby Firewarriors were pelted in shrapnel and she could already see a few were trying to administer rudimentary medical aid to the wounded. El'Vira knew she needed to call in support.

"This is Shas'El Vira. We've cleared the area of anti-aircraft fire and we need immediate air support."

"This cadre command, we have your location and we're dispatching the sharks."

"Are my battlesuits ready?"

"They are not at full strength. The Shas'vre is still incapacitated."

"...What about our XV9s?"

"...Dispatching your XV9s, Shas'El."

* * *

"What in the name of him who sits on the throne is going on?" Sister Nymia screeched in anger as she stared at the pict screens that Scribe Durnis had never once stopped studying. The scribe continued to watch them academically. The particular screen both he and Sister Nymia were paying attention to had been watching the bodies of one of the fallen champions. Before there had been four down there and they had watched the three meet their grisly ends either through themselves or by the xeno commander. And yet one had gotten back up.

"We just watched that one get cleaved in half just a few minutes ago!" the Sister of Battle snapped in disbelief.

"We have long suspected that one had a particular...condition." Durnis admitted quietly.

"What do you mean?"

"Have you ever heard of a Perpetual, Sister?"

"What? No. Well, maybe rumors that one of the saints of the Imperial Guard might have been one."

"There are some who believe that there are incredibly rare individuals called Perpetuals scattered among humanity. The very saint you mentioned was important in stopping Horus on that barge at the end of the Hersey. Many believe the Emperor himself is a Perpetual. Simply put, these unique people cannot be killed, at least not in the conventional sense. Oh, they may 'die' but over time their bodies reconstitute and then they live once more."

Sister Nymia stared at him in abject horror. "You mean to tell me that this warp fouled beast simply cannot be ended permanently?" she hollered, pointing at the screen.

"You can imagine just how terrible and dangerous it is that a follower of Slaanesh, who seeks nothing but sensation, gains such a nightmarish boon when they simply cannot die."

Still horrified, the Adepta looked back at the pict screen now resolved to make sure she never lost sight of this monstrosity. Dazed but quickly coming to its senses, the champion looked around and poked its head out the door.

"He'll see that our little team has destroyed the bridge. He can go further into the facility but to do so means taking the long and winding side corridors and passageways where you can really lose yourself in." Durnis speculated.

The two watched in horror and disbelief as the wry, spidery fiend leaped up, wrenched out a vent cover and disappeared inside the shaft.

* * *

Diamoto stalked through yet another room. There were no hostiles to be found in the room although it had it's fair share of corpses and blood slicked floors. Admittedly, this was becoming very old and he was almost astonished with himself for not noticing it at first. There was one thing that caught his attention; the large shelves stuffed to near overflowing with scrolls and texts. What was this doing in the middle of a classified building? Did the Gue'las keep hard copies of their research records here? He needed to find out.

There were several problems. One, while the onboard software translated spoken gothic, it didn't have the sensors required to handle their written script. That was why he needed those two Gue'la to read whatever signs they passed earlier. Here was all this intelligence sitting right in front of him and it all might as well have been rubbish to him because there was no way he was going to translate it, at least not yet. The second problem was more of a matter of logistics. He was quite certain that trying to pick up any of the parchment with his battlesuit would destroy the text. This meant that if he want to use any of that, he was going to have to store it to be used later. Perhaps he could pick up another hostage in the event he couldn't find those other two Gue'la.

Diamoto let out a steadying sigh to calm his nerves. What he was about to do was counter to every instinct in his bones. As if to reassure himself, he felt the front of his chestplate, the only armor he wore, where his combat blade was latched and also to his hip where he kept his pistol. Assured they were there, the Tau activated a switch and the large bulkhead that covered the pilot compartment hinged open. The suit automatically knelt so that he could safely climb out.

Tau were small by human standards and Diamoto was no exception. He realized that most of scrolls were going to be out of his reach. He was simply going to have to choose which text looked the most important and that probably meant the ones that were being most recently used. He found a table where a dead servitor was hunched over, its finger, modified into a quill, had scrawled a gnarled and messy line of ink on the scroll it was last working on before it died. The edge of the table came up to his chest so retrieving this intelligence was going to be a bit of a problem. He didn't like the idea of even for a moment not being able to reach for his pistol in an instant but the sensor did show that there were no hostiles, or movement for that matter, around. Grunting, Diamoto boosted himself up until he was kneeling on the table. He immediately collected two scrolls that looked like they were also recently consulted. Now to grab the one the servitor was working on. Looking it over, he saw that this was probably a main log because the roll was much thicker than the others around the table. He could take the whole thing.

Diamoto pulled on some of the parchment until he was satisfied and then neatly tore off what he could before rolling the remainder up. A couple Administratum officials shed tears in far away places in the galaxy and they did not know why.

Satisfied, he gathered his ill-gotten intelligence and walked to the edge of the table. Suddenly, a tremor rocked the building and the Tau lost his footing, being launched off the table. The moment his back hit the floor the lights went out. Diamoto told himself to let his eyes adjust to the dark even though he was quite certain his eyes would find nothing in total gloom. His hand slipped for his pistol.

Was something moving around in the air vents?


	9. Chapter 9

There was a desperation in the air for the Tau, a choking feeling that gripped their throats and lungs. Forced to hold a position which ran contrary to their conventional doctrines of warfare while slowly being zeroed in by the heavy guns of the Lehman Russ tanks threatened to break the fighting capacity of El'Vira's cadre. Little did she know that it was more than just her unit's fighting prowess being put to the test. Elsewhere, a group of ethereals debated wheather it was wise to continue letting them do so.

"Enough, Vre'Img. You have given Shas'O Diamoto's cadre enough scrutiny since the incident with the Chaos Daemons." Aun'Vre Kivang grumbled with a sigh. "You waste our time from more important matters, such as actually acquiring Deimos III and pacifying it from the Gue'la rule."

Kivang was still young compared to his fellow ethereals but old enough to carry some responsibility. In other words, his authority was not enough to influence all that he would have liked but it was just enough to get him yelled at. Like Diamoto's cadre, he too came from Sa'cea and ironically, so did Img though he wondered how the traditionalist and honorable Sa'cea ever managed to produce a grox such as Img.

"Respectfully, my fellow Aun, we cannot tolerate our commanders who may put the lives of our Firewarriors and their allies needless into danger, especially when they are in clear violation of the sound tactics already laid out in their training." Img asserted. The others on the council nodded. Kivang wanted to roll his eyes. The majority of the ethereals on the council were young and, he noticed, were good friends of Img. One only needed to mention "preserving the Greater Good" and they all would have their chins wagging though not having the wisdom to truly discern what that meant.

"All of our commanders must make decisions that will cost the lives of our troops. This is an unfortunate and hated fact of war. Diamoto's tactics may be unconventional but he achieves the objectives we ask, often outnumbered and in situations that usually warrants more cadres to be dispatched than just his own. Which I must note, you are the one who usually authorizes his missions while allowing no further hunter cadres to assist."

"I do this because I want to minimize the influence he may have on other commanders." Img snapped. This prompted inquisitive looks from the other ethereals. Their sagely demeanor and pursed lips demanded an explanation even if it went unspoken.

"I suspect that Shas'O Diamoto harbors within him the influence of the Mont'au and for a commander to have such tendencies, it cannot be allowed to taint others who may pick up on his poisonous actions."

"This is a grim accusation, Aun'Img. It is also without merit. Unconventional tactics alone mean nothing." Vre'Kivang replied flatly.

"Yes, but remember the last commander who suggested similar tactics? His traitorous deeds still continue to cost us as pockets of our Firewarriors break away from the Greater Good-"

"Similarities is still not proof. Are you suggesting that Diamoto may have sympathies for this...fallen commander?"

"I have no proof of that but it's a possibility. Nonetheless, we must still monitor him. If his whole cadre is staunchly loyal to him first instead of the Tau'va, what would happen if he went rogue...or joined the traitors' enclave?" Vre'Img challenged. There was silence for a long moment within the council chambers. Vre'Kivang, while understanding the gravity of what his peer was getting at, was still quietly relieved he still held seniority over this council.

"These are all important concerns, Vre'Img." Kivang started. "But now is hardly the time. We will keep watch over Diamoto's cadre but in the meantime, do not interfere with O'Diamoto or El'Vira's handling of the battle. It serves the Tau'va to pacify Diemos first. Then we will decide what to do with the Shadow Lance."

* * *

The Sisters of the Argent Shroud continued pouring over the raised hill from which Building 83 sat on. Down the slope, the treacherous xenos had set up their classic gunlines to rain missiles, rail and pulsefire. And despite it all, their faith in the Emperor was allowing them to prevail. They needed to get the building back and reinforce their Sisters inside. The usual reported status transmissions had fallen silent for over a month now. Beyond liberating the building from the enemy, they would have to investigate what happened.

But first things first. They continued to rain bolts which lit the night with red trails of fire into the makeshift defenses the Tau were crouching behind, be it ruined buildings or the woodline just below the muddy path that led up to the building. Another salvo of plasma pulses screamed from the woods. A few simply slammed and dissipated off the Sisters' ornate adamantium armor, leaving the faithful within staggered but otherwise unharmed. Most crushed through the holy alloy and sent the wearer to the Emperor's side. The losses were inconsequential. The orders came in to advance just in time for the Tau pulse rifles to fall mostly silent save for a few stray guns. Only the missiles continued to fall from the sky as the Sisters of Battle boldly advanced, their weapons continuing to fire as they were joined by the roaring engines of their rhino transports.

Ominously, they noticed noticed far more of those eerie, thread like, light blue beams starting to emerge from the dark and highlight their locations.

The Sisters pressed forward, keeping in time with their Rhinos as the pintle mounted flamers warmed up their heating elements in anticipation of the slaughter ahead. Had the Tau simply started to withdraw like they so often did? If so, why were the markerlights holding steady on them?

The ground just off to their flanks seemed to explode as if two artillery rounds had landed simultaneously next to each other. When the wet dirt and ruined grass settled, the Sisters spotted two Tau battlesuits staring back at them. Their design was like no other crisis suit they had been briefed on. These two were a head and shoulder taller than a standard XV8 battlesuit and were far more heavily armored. Camouflaged in the same blue, black and gray pattern of the Tau they had just been fighting, the machines raised their duel heavy weapons, ventilation ports already spinning as the guns warmed up.

The Tau resumed their storm of fire just as the XV9 Hazard suits unleashed a torrent of hellfire from their fusion cascades, incinerating warrior and vehicle alike. Overhead, a shoal of Sunshark bombers began to drop their payloads on the Lehman Russ tanks behind the ridge.

Shas'El Vira watched on, wondering if this was the turning point. Her gut told her the Gue'la were not finished with their surprises yet.

* * *

Diamoto was hauling himself off the floor when his questions turned into desperation. Judging from the sounds overhead that went skittering across the floor with fleshy slaps against the hard ferrocrete, it wasn't a question of whether or not there was something in the air vent, it was a question of what had just escaped it. The commander did not like being blind in the pitch dark. Despite having no vision to go by, Diamoto raised his pistol in front of him and drew the blade from its sheath, holding it in his other hand. He forced himself to steady his breathing. He didn't know what else was in the room but he didn't need to give it a hint that he was also there.

The lights flickered and then went on. Diamoto cursed the biological instinct to blink as the light burned his eyes. Squinting through the tears, the commander looked to his crisis suit only to be horrified at the realization that something else was already inside the cockpit. And what an ugly thing it was.

The Shas'O was not an Earth Caste scientist but he knew that this Gue'la had a very prominent mutation. Every human he had seen had two arms. This one had four. Gnarled, grotesque scars criss crossed every inch of its skin, fresh pink and red ones intersected and cut over gray and clammy old ones. It wore a long, eye burning pink sarong from which four dagger hilts poked out from the waistband. Its head was bald and just as ruined with scars as the rest of the body was. When it grinned under its two sharp, fierce eyes, two rows of jagged teeth were exposed as well as a serpentine tongue.

"Normally," the thing purred obscenely from its perch in the command cockpit. "I prefer to kill up close and personal, with my hands." It waggled and flexed it four hands at once and let out a giggle. "But I'm always for new experiences. Tell me, what do you feel when you fry your enemies from inside this thing? Does it even please you?"

Diamoto could only stare as the monster began to caress and feel inside his crisis suit, finding all the proper controls. The guns began to shift and move as the fiend watched from the open cockpit, enjoying every look of discomfort on the Tau's face. Finally, it found the main controls.

"You're no fun, you don't even fight back. Watching you vaporize better make it worth it then. Your race is too stoic. Ooh! Maybe I'll feel the fine particles of your blood rain on my face when you die!" the fiend hissed with glee.

The machine blarred something in the Tau language which was complete gibberish to the champion's ears.

"Oh? What an interesting language you have, what does it say?"

"'Unauthorized presence detected. Initiating purge.'" Diamoto replied.

The chamber lit up with a bright light as the reactor sent a massive electric shock through the entire cockpit. Diamoto could have sworn the fiend was screaming with as much pleasure as it was pain but...how could anything do that?

The Tau struggled to pull the still smoking body out of his chair when the butchery was over. The Shas'O didn't know which he was disgusted with more, the fact that he had to touch the thing's body or the fact that it had been all over his command chair. That ugly task done, Diamoto made himself comfortable and began to reactivate the controls, ergonomic interfaces lighting up for him. He set the rolled up scrolls aside in the chamber, already cramped to begin with and told the machine to press forward. Back to the mission. He made sure to step on the thing's head as he left.

"That was anti-climatic." he grumbled to himself.

He couldn't have seen its hand twitch as he left the room. It twisted into a rude gesture.

* * *

How many heartbeats is eternity?

Who knew how long that darkness lasted. Maybe it was a few seconds. Maybe a few minutes. Each heartbeat was a millenia even though Miguel knew they were only a second at most. The guardsman no longer knew which terrified him more, some primordial fear that made man more aware of his fragile mortality when alone in the dark that was as silent that was silent as the grave or the fact that there was a stray voice speaking in his head? Was there a daemon in his head? Has his lack of faith made him vulnerable to the Ruinous powers? Or even worse, was this the first sign of the madness that had overcome the Wretches he had fought past and slaughtered? Was he too going to lose his mind?

He desperately reasoned that madmen do not wonder if or acknowledge they are mad. He clung to this moment of clarity just in time for the servo-skull's eye sockets shone again. Both he and Gunther involuntarily let out a ragged sigh of relief.

"We can see again." The ogryn announced, joy thick in his voice.

"Praise the Emperor." Miguel replied, more out of habit than out of devotion before realizing there was no time to lose. While he still had this clarity he needed to capitalize off of it. It was what the Commissar would have wanted, that much was certain.

"Come on, we need to keep going." Miguel stated, ordering Gunther along as much as he was his own ankles.

The corridor continued on as narrow as ever. Miguel had to lean forward just slightly while Gunther was completely hunched over and mincing his steps as his flanks dragged along the walls, impeding his full range of motion. This went on far longer than either were comfortable with. Miguel was also growing tired with Gunther muttering under his breath.

"Silence and noise can be equally terrifying."

"Gunther, I need you to stop talking." Miguel grumbled, his lasgun never leaving his shoulder as he watched the corridor from down the barrel.

"But I'm not talkin." the ogryn protested.

"Yes you are, stop."

"I is bein quiet. You must be hearin other things, Mig'el." Gunther suggested. The shorter guardsman's brows dipped in worry before narrowing together. Maybe he wasn't hearing intelligible voices anymore but now they had become muffled whispers, nothing he could understand but they were there nonetheless.

_Stay focused, Miguel. Stay focus. Maybe you'll hear the voices but you don't need to do what they say. You just can't give in to the temptation._

The two continued on and on. Miguel was starting to think that there would be no end to it. Gunther too was becoming impatient. The discomfort in his joints from constantly being crouched over and waddling did not help either.

"We's been doin dis fer a long time." Gunther allowed himself to grumble.

"What purpose does this shaft even serve?" Miguel joined in, thoroughly infuriated.

"Duh techpriest would know." Gunther shrugged.

"Right, well we don't have one with us."

"...do you hear that?" the ogryn asked after some contemplation.

The two strained their ears as Miguel searched to hear what Gunther was talking about. Silence reigned in the cramped shaft with only the faint hum of the servo-skull's motor joining their heartbeats in their ears.

"Wait," Miguel whispered. "That...that sounds like crying."

"Dats not good."

"Probably a Wretch. Be ready for trouble." the guardsman warned as he returned to his old stance with the rifle shouldered to his rifle. The two continued on cautiously but determined to overcome whatever foul company they shared. Each step was made as quietly as they could until they came upon a shadow cast in the crimson glare of the servo-skull's lights.

"There, ahead." Miguel whispered, finger inside the trigger guard and ready to fire.

The weeping figure was curled up in the shaft, head buried in its hands. The two immediately sensed something was different about this one Wretch. For one, despite the grime and muck, they could tell that the person was wearing what had once been expensive robes, all with intricate designs etched into the cloth. A cap of some sort sat utop the person's head like an oversized fez. Sobs continued to wrack the through the shaft.

"...I dun think it can hurt us." Gunther whispered in Miguel's ear. The guardsman powered through the ogryn's teeth shattering halitosis.

"I don't know, in these cramped spaces it might-"

"Please don't kill me." the person squeaked. The voice sounded feminine.

"Who are you, identify yourself!" Miguel ordered, lasgun pointed directly in front of him and at still sobbing newcomer.

"I'm...I'm Lusana." the woman whimpered, finally peeking at them. Her face, while tearstained, was partially obscured by a banded cloth that covered her eyes. This too was laced with more intricate designs. All at once, it hit Miguel.

"You're a psyker, aren't you?"

"I...I was an astropath here. They wanted me to send messages when necessary. Also, they kept me around to...to listen." And what a sorry looking astropath she was. Her robes were dirtied with holy maintenance oil, gratuitous amounts of dust and grime, not to mention other splotches on her robes suggested she may have been near someone getting slaughtered before she ended up in the shaft. She had a small frame, her cheek bones were starting to stand out on her skin and in the silent dark, one could hear her stomach growl.

"Listen to what?"

"You know...changes in the Warp."

"And how is it that you're all right and everyone is not?" Miguel demanded, growing more suspicious.

"But I'm not all right! I'm scared, everyone is! Oh god-emperor save us! I'm tired of being scared all the time." Lusana sobbed.

"A psyker that hasn't completely lost her mind in a building full of everyone else. I don't like this. You, get up!" Miguel ordered with a jab of his rifle.

"But it's not my fault! You have to believe me, Miguel! I just ran away before everything happened!"

Miguel sputtered when he realized he hadn't told her his name yet. "Stop reading my mind!" he snapped.

"Please! I just want to be safe!" Lusana wailed.

"You will not be unless you come with us or you make me angry! Even if you're a sanction psyker you're still a psyker and we cannot trust the mutant! Now get up, you're helping us get out of here!"

* * *

Diamoto turned his thoughts to what was going on above ground. Who knew how much deeper he had traveled. He stopped counting the levels after too many doors ended with him having to mop up the human refuse to attacked him more often than not with bolters and heavier weaponry. Those that were so far gone that they actually tried to attack his suit with his bare hands he simply walked over, not caring if he crushed them or not. He had not heard anything over the transmissions for a long time and his absence of the battle was starting to weigh heavily on his conscience. When was the last time he had spent this much time away from the rest of the cadre? And what about El'Vira? He was surprised she had even been transferred into his cadre. Surely, the Water Caste kept proper records that was available to the Ethereals and commanding Shas'Os. Wouldn't they know of the past he shared with her?

_Focus, focus. Be still and unyielding as deep water. Win victory by victory, each task for its own time._

Rounding a corner, Diamoto strained his ears to hear something different from the usual background noise of distant, tortured cries and thrumming, groaning machinery. There was a flicker of a familiar red glow and the commander happened upon another derelict servo-skull floating in the center of the room. It had taken some damage. Sparks occasionally sizzled and escaped from a sizeable, jagged crater in the machine's temple and instead of hovering steadily, it wobbled and staggered about in a ballpark position in the air. Leaning down, Diamoto listened to a noise coming from the drone analogue.

"Computer, try to clear up the audio coming from this source. Search for possible translations in the Gue'la language." the Shas'O commanded. After a brief pause, a modified audio and text transcript appeared in front of him as he heard it in his own language.

_"...We've done all the research we can. Every expert we could pull from the Ordo Xenos, Hereticus and Malleus cannot identify the origins of this artifact or what it serves but the fact that any psyker that enters this place immediately becomes on edge is a sign that there is something more to it. While it may not have a clear alignment to any of the recognized chaos gods...perhaps we may have to search deeper in the tomes that are usually forbid-"_

Diamoto shook his head. The Gue'la may worship a corpse and inefficient machinery but he had to admit they knew far more on the fiends in the warp than the Tau did. He did not envy them on the ways and misfortunes that such knowledge was gleaned. The somber side of him said he was in way over his head. The Firewarrior declared he had to keep marching on no matter what. His onboard sensors warned him that danger was rapidly approaching.

An explosion rocked Diamoto around in his cockpit as it dawned on him that his suit's shield generator failed to adequately deflect a missile. The commander snarled in frustration at the controls as his displays fought to stabilize. Finally righting themselves, he soon found himself staring at yet another skitarii servitor, appropriately lugging a missile launcher over its shoulder. Diamoto casually noted the displays indicating superficial damage to the suit. He was more bothered to find that his comms relay had been compromised. His weapons coming back online, the Shas'O readied to fight back.

Diamoto stared in bewilderment as a heavy plate fell from the ceiling and crushed the combat servitor underneath it. He was going to take the opportunity to further curse the shortcomings of the Gue'la when he realized that there was a very familiar, and very disheveled, ogryn and guardsman on top of the metal slab. The abhuman's incredible bulk had finally overcome the weight of the years wearing the shaft away.

"Gue'vesa," Diamoto started, the confusion suffocating any sense of authority he was trying to convey. "What were you doing in that overhead ventilation shaft?"

"Whoa...fancy finding you just as that thing gave way. I thought it was another tremor. And what happened to you? Did you stand in front of a manufactorum exhaust pipe?" Miguel inquired with a raised eyebrow, noting the crisis suit's recent soot besotted and cracked appearance.

"That is none of your concern. Do you still have the skull drone?"

"Yes, its right here." the guardsman grasped the floating skull as it descended down to them.

"Very good. We can continue. It is good to see that you have survived. I was expecting I would have to rescue you."

"Ha, the Hammer of the Emperor does not need to be rescued." Miguel retorted as Gunther finally stood up, revealing the trembling, quietly sobbing mass that was Lusana who had been hidden behind his bulk the whole time.

"You have found other survivors?" Diamoto asked curiously.

"Sort of. She's a psyker. You can't trust them."

Lusana suddenly grasped at her head, nails scratching at her temples as her face contorted in agony. In her mind, she saw a horrific finger viciously tearing into ferrocrete.

"God-Emperor save us! He's going to break it! He's going to let it in! He's going to let it in!" Lusana wailed in horror. Gunther stared at her, his frown showing that he was rather disturbed by all of this.

"Is she suffering from a state of madness?" Diamoto asked curiously. While he had heard of these human "psykers" the database the Tau had on them was scant as best.

"This is just a psyker having a moment." Miguel grumbled.

"We have to stop him! He'll let the Warp in! Make it stop, make it stop!" Lusana screamed.

Elsewhere, Durnis and Sister Nymia watched the pict recordings. There was a fourth champion down in the holds with them and Lusana's rantings were not simply nightmares. Her words had an uncomfortable semblence to reality.


End file.
